“Well, as though she wouldn’t tolerate any thing petty—a dialogue such as ours now, for example.”
“I don’t know whether you have formed a correct notion of her, or not. Cold she certainly isn’t. She’s an enthusiast on the subject of music. And when we were talking about Wagner, she—wasn’t exactly flippant—but she showed that she could be jocose. There’s something about her that’s exceedingly impressive, I don’t know what it is. But I know that she made me feel, somehow, very small. She made me feel that underneath her quiet manner—hidden away somewhere in her frail woman’s body—there was the capability of immense power. She reminded me of the women in Robert Browning’s poetry—of the heroine of the ’Inn Album’ especially. Yet she said nothing remarkable—nothing to justify such an estimate.”
“You were affected by her personal magnetism. A woman with eyes like hers—and mighty scarce they are—always gives you the idea of power. Young as she is, I suspect she’s been through a good deal. She has had her experiences. That seems to be written on her face. Yet she didn’t strike me as having the peach-bloom rubbed off—though, of course, I had no chance to examine her closely.”
“Oh, no; the peach-bloom is there in abundance. Well, at all events, she’s a problem which it will be interesting to solve. By the way, what possessed you to accept Mrs. Berle’s invitation to tea?”
“What possessed me? Why should I have done otherwise?”
“It will be an insufferable bore.”
“Who was it that somewhat earlier in the afternoon preached me a sermon on the duties we owe that identical Mrs. Berle?”
Arthur spent the evening reading. Hetzel, peeping over his shoulder, saw that the book of his choice was “The Inn Album” by Robert Browning.