He put out his hand for the book under her hand; she rapidly drew it away and put it behind her on the shelf.
“You hide it as you used to hide the currants in your mouth. But show it me.”
“Do you read books that may not be seen?” he said, laughingly as she shook her head.
“Heavens! how lovely she is!” he thought. And he wondered how such beauty could have lost its way in such an outlandish place. He wanted to touch some answering chord in her heart, wanted her to reveal something of her feelings, but his efforts only produced a greater coldness.
“My library was in your hands?”
“Yes, but later Leonid Ivanovich took it over, and I was glad to be relieved of the charge.”
“But he must have left you a few books?”
“Oh no! I read what I liked, and then surrendered the books.”
“What did you like?”
She looked out of the window as she answered: “A great many. I have really forgotten.”