"I am in a more blissful dream now than any I could dream asleep. Here is a seat. Oh, don't sit so far off. Are those the books? How can I ever thank you?"
"You never can—so don't try. Here is Tennyson—of course you like Tennyson; here is Shelley—here are two new and charming novels. Do you read novels?"
"I will read everything you fetch me. By-the-by, it is very fatiguing to read lying down; won't you read to me?"
"I can't read. I mean I can't read aloud."
"Let me be the judge of that. Let me see—read 'Maud.'"
Rose began and did her best, and read until she was tired. Mr. Reinecourt watched her all the while as she sat beside him.
And presently they drifted off into delicious talk of poetry and romance; and Rose, pulling out her watch, was horrified to find that it was two o'clock.
"I must go!" she cried, springing up; "what will they think has become of me?"
"But you will come again to-morrow?" pleaded Mr. Reinecourt.
"I don't know—you don't deserve it, keeping me here until this hour. Perhaps I may, though—good-bye."