"I suppose I should have chosen as he did," said the doctor carelessly—"I really don't remember how that was. I'll tell you when I come to him. Have you done letter-writing?"
"I have done writing letters, for to-night. Have I permission to go to
Venice in your train?"
"I am only a locomotive," said the doctor. "But you know, with two a train goes faster. If you had another copy of the play, now, Linden—and we should read it as I have read Shakspeare in certain former times—take different parts—I presume the effect would excel steam-power, and be electric. Can you?"
This was agreed to, and the "effect" almost equalled the doctor's prognostications. Even Mrs. Derrick, who had somewhat carelessly held aloof from his single presentation of the play, was fascinated now, and drew near and dropped her knitting. It would have been a very rare entertainment to any that had heard it; but for once an audience of two was sufficient for the stimulus and reward of the readers. That and the actual enjoyment of the parts they were playing. Dr. Harrison read well, with cultivated and critical accuracy. His voice was good and melodious, his English enunciation excellent; his knowledge of his author thorough, as far as acquaintanceship went; and his habit of reading a dramatically practised one. But Faith, amid all her delight, had felt a want in it, as compared with the reading to which of late she had been accustomed; it did not give the soul and heart of the author—though it gave everything else. That is what only soul and heart can do. Not that Dr. Harrison was entirely wanting in those gifts either; they lay somewhere, perhaps, in him; but they are not the ones which in what is called "the world" come most often or readily into play; and so it falls out that one who lives there long becomes like the cork oak when it has stood long untouched in its world; the heart is encrusted with a monstrous thick, almost impenetrable, coating of bark. When Mr. Linden joined the reading, the pleasure was perfect; the very contrast between the two characters and the two voices made the illusion more happy. Then Faith was in a little danger of betraying herself; for it was difficult to look at both readers with the same eyes; and if she tried to keep her eyes at home, that was more difficult still.
In the second act, Portia says to Arragon,
"In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes," etc.
"What do you think of that, Miss Derrick?" said the doctor pausing when his turn came. "Do you think a lady's choice ought to be so determined?"
Faith raised her eyes, and answered, "No, sir."
"By what then? You don't trust appearances?"
Faith hesitated.