''Indeed, Mr Lilly, she does not,'' says Mr Huss, gazing at my uncovered hands.
I place the book upon a stand and carefully weight its pages. I turn a lamp so that its light falls bright upon the print. ''How long shall I read for, Uncle?''
He puts his watch against his ear. He says, ''Until the next o''clock. Now, note this, Rivers, and tell me if you suppose its like may be encountered in any other English drawing-room!''
The book is filled, as I have said, with common enough obscenities; but my uncle is right, I have been trained too well, my voice is clear and true and makes the words seem almost sweet. When I
have finished, Mr Hawtrey claps, and Mr Huss''s pink face is pinker, his look rather troubled. My uncle sits with his spectacles removed, his head at an angle, his eyes screwed tight.
''Poor words enough,'' he says. ''But I have a home for you, upon my shelves. A home, and brothers, too. Tomorrow we shall see you placed there. The fleuron: I am certain we have not thought of that.—Maud, the covers are closed, and quite unbent?''
''Yes, sir.''
He draws on his eye-glasses, working the wires about his ears. Mr Huss pours brandy. I button up my gloves, smooth creases from my skirt. I turn the lamp, and dim it. But I am conscious of myself. I am conscious of Mr Rivers. He has heard me read, apparently without excitement, his eyes upon the floor; but his hands are clasped and one thumb beats a little nervously upon the other. Presently he rises. He says the fire is hot and scorches him. He walks a minute about the room, leaning rigidly to gaze into my uncle''s book-presses—now his hands are behind his back; his thumb still twitches, however. I think he knows I watch. In time he comes close, catches my eye, makes a careful bow. He says, ''It is rather chill, so far from the fire. Shouldn''t you like, Miss Lilly, to sit closer to the flames?''^o^思^o^兔^o^在^o^線^o^閱^o^讀^o^