"Ah," said my nun, pushing her sheets into a compact pile, and thumping
their edges on the table to make them even, "to talk about that would be
decidedly against the rules of the institution;--and now I am ready to
read."
Thus did she punish me for what she considered my want of curiosity or
interest; I knew it as well as if she had told me so. I accepted the
rebuff and said no more, and she went on with her reading.
On this and the following day I became aware how infinitely more
pleasant it was to listen than to be listened to,--at least under
certain circumstances. I considered it wonderfully fortunate to be able
to talk to such an admirable listener as Walkirk: but to sit and hear my
nun read; to watch the charming play of her mouth, and the occasional
flush of a smile when she came to something exciting or humorous; to
look into the blue of her eyes, as she raised them to me while I
considered an alteration, was to me an overwhelming rapture,--I could
call it nothing less. But by the end of the third morning of reading my
good sense told me that this sort of thing could not go on, and it would
be judicious for me to begin again my dictation, and to let my secretary
confine herself to her writing. The fact that on any morning I had not
allowed her to read until the hour of noon was an additional proof that
my decision was a wise one.
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