She laughed softly.
"You, Montague!" she said.
"Yes—may I try it?"
She shook her head. "It wouldn't be wise. It might raise false hopes; and a football of fate hasn't any right to hopes—they are too expensive of disappointment."
"How do you know what I shall read?" he asked.
"You wouldn't venture to read anything that wasn't nice."
"I'll read what I see," said he;—"and the first thing I see is far from nice."
She regarded him a moment thoughtfully—and he waited.
"What is it?" she asked finally.