"So much the better. I can remain here all the longer."
"Won't they miss you at home?"
"They know that I am sure to turn up again."
Vanity is the horn by which one may always catch hold of a man. It flattered me to read what I had written, whoever the listener might be. In other parts of the kingdom I had already gained applause with my recitations, but nobody in my own narrow little town had ever heard me speak. Nemo profeta in patria.
And Bessy was a very appreciative audience. You could read from her face the effect I produced and the interest she took. She rested her face on her hand, smoothed down her hair, and fixed her attention that she might listen the better. She seemed quite frightened at the exciting scenes, her eyes and lips opened wide. I do not say this to praise myself, but simply as a justification of the fact that in those days I could recite with considerable emphasis. In one place, however, my voice began to falter.
"Well, what is it? Can't you read your own writing?"
"Yes—no, I mean. I think we had better leave off here?"
"Why? You've come to the most interesting part."
"I don't want to read it to you."
"Why? Do you mean to say you write such things as a girl ought not to know?"