“Yes; he was a great big child, and he looked then like the Greek busts of Jove.”
“He should always be read aloud,” returned Anne, “and read, too, with a little contribution of rhythmical flattery. If I were Mr. Ellett, I would say, ‘Now, that isn’t at all a bad remark.’”
“You appear to have said so, Aunt Anne.”
“I have. If I were a poet, I would set over my verses, ‘Read this aloud’; or, ‘Read this to yourself’; or, ‘To be read under a tree over a woman’s shoulder’; or, ‘With a pipe in autumn.’”
“What a nice idea, aunty! When you were talking just now of the use of natural descriptions, I meant to tell you what Mr. Carington said.”
“Well.”
“He said it seemed to him a fine and artful thing in Shakspere to set amidst the crime of Macbeth all that prettiness about innocent nature; the description of the martlets and the castle, you know.”
“It is true,” said Anne. “It is quite true. Does the young man talk well? I am not sure that his remark is new; but no matter. How little of one’s talk can be that!”
“I thought he talked fairly well. He did not say it was his own thought.”
“No matter. It is ben trovato.”