“But they are very interesting!”
“How can you tell that?” asked Maynard, in surprise. “You have not read the book?”
“No; but the newspaper has given the story—a portion of it. I can judge from that.”
The author had not been aware of this. He had only glanced at the literary notice—at its first and final paragraphs.
These had flattered him; but not so much as the words now heard, and appearing truthfully spoken.
A thrill of delight ran through him, at the thought of those scenes having interested her. She had been in his thoughts all the while he was painting them. It was she who had inspired that portraiture of a “CHILD WIFE,” giving to the book any charm he supposed it to possess.
He was almost tempted to tell her so; and might have done it, but for the danger of being overheard by the dancers.
“I am sure it is a very interesting story,” said she, as they came together again after “turning to corners.”
“I shall continue to think so, till I’ve read the book; and then you shall have my own opinion of it.”
“I have no doubt you’ll be disappointed. The story is one of rude frontier life, not likely to be interesting to young ladies.”