“Reads, I judge, as he had a book with him.”
“Reads what? Tennyson, I hope. I went through with the May Queen and one or two other poems.”
“I think his preference is Browning.”
“Browning!” Helen almost shrieked. “I never read a line of him in my life. Do you mean he likes Browning and will talk to me about him?”
“I think so. He belongs to a Browning club, and is trying to master Sordello.”
“Sordello! What’s that?” Helen asked.
“I am sure I don’t know. A man, I imagine,” Alice replied. “He said he found it hard work reading alone and suggested that we join him for half an hour, or an hour, every afternoon.”
“Oh, horror,” Helen cried in dismay. “Join a Browning club, and not know a thing except that I have seen Mrs. Browning’s house and grave in Florence, and mamma had to tell me who she was. Do you think there is a library in town?” and Helen began to brighten.
Alice thought there must be. She would inquire.
“No, that would give me away. Take a walk by yourself, and if there is one, get me Browning’s Poems. Wretched, that I must wade through them, when I was getting on so nicely with Tennyson.”