After dinner the men went into his den to smoke, but before his cigar was half finished he muttered something about his duty to the ladies and returned to the parlor. As he had half expected, Madeleine was standing before the books scanning their titles, and as he approached she drew her hand caressingly across a shelf devoted to the poets. The other women were gossiping at the end of the long room.
"You are fond of books!" he said abruptly.
She had not noticed his reappearance. She was startled and exclaimed passionately, "I loved them—once! But it is a long time since I have read anything but an occasional novel."
"But why? Why?"
He had powerful gray eyes and they magnetized the truth out of her.
"My husband thinks it is a woman's sole duty to look charming. He was afraid I would become a bluestocking and lose my charm and spoil my looks. I brought many books with me, but I never opened the cases and finally gave them to the Mercantile Library. I have never gone to look at them."
"Good heaven!" He had never felt sorrier for a woman who had asked alms of him in the street.
She was looking at him eagerly. "Perhaps—you won't mind—you will lend me—I don't think my husband would notice now—he is never at home except for breakfast and dinner—"
"Will I? For heaven's sake look upon them as your own. What will you take with you to-night?"
"Oh! Nothing! Perhaps you will send me one tomorrow?"