"When may I hope to see you again?"
"To-morrow, if you wish."
"At what hour, that I may count the minutes!"
"Eleven o'clock, shall we say? If I might read to you an hour each morning, would that help you to pass less irksomely the tedious days of your captivity?"
She called this back to me over her shoulder, her saucy face fairer for its frame of soft plumes and rich fur.
"'Twould make me rejoice in the midst of my misfortunes, most merciful jailer," I answered, striking an attitude with my hand upon my heart.
The hours crawled by like a slow procession of half torpid serpents till I fell asleep, and the next morning passed in eager expectancy.
"Which of these shall I read from?" began Miss Nelly, entering the small reception room with her arms full of books.
"I have chosen a variety, one of which will, I hope, suit both your taste and your mood. Here is Ossian, if your literary appetite calls for the mystic and lyric; or Pope if it demands the caustic and humorous; or Lady Mary Montague if you have a weakness for gossip; or Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet,' Ben Jonson's 'Mourning Bride,' should your mood be tragic; or 'Evelina,' the most popular of the new novels, if you have a fancy for fiction. Which shall it be this morning?"
"First, a few extracts from Ossian, then, a bit of Lady Mary, and lastly, a chapter from the new novel," I answered with shameless greed.