"I should like to hear how Portia managed," she said, with a little heightened colour. "I never thought much about it."
"What do you think of Portia's gloves, doctor?" said Mr. Linden.
"Hum"—said the doctor. "They are a pattern!—soft as steel, harsh as kid-leather. They fit too, so exquisitely! But, if I were marrying her, I think I should request that she would give her gloves into my keeping."
"Then would your exercise of power be properly thwarted. Every time you made the demand, Portia would, like a juggler, pull off and surrender a fresh pair of gloves, leaving ever a pair yet finer-spun upon her hands."
"I suppose she would," said the doctor comically. "Come! I won't marry her. And yet, Linden,—one might do worse. Such gloves keep off a wonderful amount of friction."
"If you happen to have fur which cannot be even stroked the wrong way!"
The doctor's eye glanced with fun, and Faith laughed The reading went on. And went on without much pausing, until the lines—
"O ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
——Who riseth from a feast,
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse, that doth untread again
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoyed."
"Do you believe in that doctrine, Miss Faith?" said the doctor, with a gentle look in her direction.
"I suppose it is true of some things,"—she said after a minute's consideration.