By the way," she added in a moment, without
a visible reason for the transition, "can you tell me something to
read?"
Rowland stared, at the disconnectedness of the question.
"Can you recommend me some books?" she repeated. "I know you are a great
reader. I have no one else to ask. We can buy no books. We can make
debts for jewelry and bonnets and five-button gloves, but we can't spend
a sou for ideas. And yet, though you may not believe it, I like ideas
quite as well."
"I shall be most happy to lend you some books," Rowland said. "I will
pick some out to-morrow and send them to you."
"No novels, please! I am tired of novels. I can imagine better stories
for myself than any I read. Some good poetry, if there is such a thing
nowadays, and some memoirs and histories and books of facts."
"You shall be served. Your taste agrees with my own."
She was silent a moment, looking at him. Then suddenly--"Tell me
something about Mr. Hudson," she demanded. "You are great friends!"
"Oh yes," said Rowland; "we are great friends."
"Tell me about him. Come, begin!"
"Where shall I begin? You know him for yourself.
Pages:
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266