“No. I like the paper, and I will take it all.”
“Very good, Monsieur.”
Her heart was beating hard. All this man did had peculiar significance to her. His look seemed to say: “Do not fear. I will tell you things.”
She gave him the parcel and the change, and he turned to go. “You read much?” he asked, almost casually, yet deeply interested in the charm and intelligence of her face.
“Why, yes, Monsieur,” she answered quickly. “I am always reading.”
He did not speak at once. He was wondering whether, in this primitive place, such a mind and nature would be the wiser for reading; whether it were not better to be without a mental aspiration, which might set up false standards.
“What are you reading now?” he asked, with his hand on the door.
“Antony and Cleopatra, also Enoch Arden,” she answered, in good English, and without accent.
His head turned quickly towards her, but he did not speak.
“Enoch Arden is terrible,” she added eagerly. “Don’t you think so, Monsieur?”