“Yes.”
“Where?”
She made one of the patch-pockets on her overall gape, and let him see the packet within. He gave her the note reluctantly, and opened the door for her.
“Good-bye, Mr. Necromancer, with your alembics,” she said.
“Stop! where did you get that big word?”
“Out of a book.”
He could think of nothing to say but “What book?” in order to delay her, but she was already half-way down the passage. He watched her till she was out of sight, then returned to his room and shut the door. “She’s like a little delicate moth flitting through gross life,” he thought, and he wandered about his room, touching the things which had taken her fancy most.
IX
I
He was on duty at the factory that night, so Silas, not to be alone, had his supper with Nan and Gregory. The households of the double-cottage were so interchangeable that it increased Nan’s sense of restriction within that grim and tiny circle, the monotony of knowing that after supper Gregory would bring out his roll of drawings and flatten them out on the table with drawing-pins, and that Silas would surround himself with his great Braille volumes, running his fingers over the pages while his eyes would remain fixed on some distant corner and expressions of amusement, interest, or indignation uncannily succeeded each other upon his face. To watch him while he was reading never ceased to fascinate and frighten Nan. To see him laughing when no one could tell what he was laughing at, when his eyes were not even bent upon the page!