"Oh, I have interrupted you!" Miss Wilton ejaculated, and stopped just inside the door.
"Interrupted me! Not a bit of it! I was only——"
"You were thinking of that sonnet—I know you were!"
"No, really," said Adrian, almost wishing he had been thinking of that sonnet. "No, I wasn't. In fact I think the sonnet is pretty well finished."
"Is it? You must read it to me, won't you?" and she came forward eagerly, took a chair, and dropped into a graceful attitude of attention. She had a real taste for poetry, and the poet was also to her liking. This was not the first time that she had listened, with shining eyes and quickened breath, and had brought the colour to the young man's cheek by saying with soft earnestness, "I like that—O, I like that!" Adrian found it very pleasant to read his poems to Miss Wilton.
"If you like," he said. "If you are sure it won't bore you."
"Of course I like," she answered.
"It's the first sonnet of all, you know," he explained, "a sort of dedication. I didn't like the one I had, so I shall make them put this in instead." He pulled his papers out of his pocket, and took a leaf of manuscript from among the printed pages. "You must tell me what you think of it," he said, and cleared his throat.
At that moment Molly opened the door. She saw the state of affairs at a glance, and slipped into her place, as quietly as if she had come into church late, and spied a convenient free seat.
Adrian read—