"I should perhaps decline."
Miss Essie had no chance to push her question, for Sam came with a demand for Mr. Linden himself, which was at once obeyed.
A little while passed, and then Mr. Linden came back again; and walked composedly round to the back of Faith's chair. "Mrs. Stoutenburgh," he said, "will you let me take this lady away for five minutes?—Miss Faith, will you come?"
Nothing loth, if the truth must be told, Faith rose up to follow his leading; which was out of the parlour and through the hall.
"Miss Faith," he said as he shut the door, "have you been conjugating the verb s'ennuyer?"
"No," she said. "I was amused to hear you and Miss Essie talk."
"What singular ideas people have on the question of pleasant things!" said Mr. Linden. "Come in here, Miss Faith"—and he opened the door of a mingled library, study room, and office—"I want to give you (before we go any further) the whole quotation which I did not dare to give Miss Essie, though it would not have been meant for her, if I had." And he took down one of the books, and read—
"'Her eye,—it seems a chemic test,
And drops upon you like an acid;
It bites you with unconscious zest,
So clear and bright, so coldly placid;
It holds—you quietly aloof,
It holds, and yet it does not win you;
It merely puts you to the proof
And sorts what qualities are in you,' &c.
'There you are classified: she's gone
Far, far away into herself;
Each with its Latin label on,
Your poor components, one by one,
Are laid upon their proper shelf
In her compact and ordered mind,' &c.
'O brain exact, that in thy scales
Canst weigh the sun and never err,
For once thy patient science fails,
One problem still defies thy art;—
Thou never canst compute for her
The distance and diameter
Of any simple human heart.'