"I don't know yet. We'll think about that another time, but we
won't do it now. I ought to be ashamed of myself for having
spoiled your evening by such serious talk (he wasn't ashamed--he
had come for that very purpose). Now show me some of your books
and tell me what you read, and what you love best."
He was out of the chair before he ceased speaking, his heels
striking the floor, bustling about in his prompt, exact manner,
examining the few curios and keepsakes on the mantel and tables,
running his eyes over the rows of bindings lining the small
bookcase; his hand on Jack's shoulder whenever the boy opened some
favorite author to hunt for a passage to read aloud to Peter,
listening with delight, whether the quotation was old or new to
him.
Jack, suddenly remembering that his guest was standing, tried to
lead him back to his seat by the fire, but Peter would have none
of it.
"No--too late. Why, bless me, it's after eleven o'clock! Hear the
music--they are still at it. Now I'm going to insist that you go
down and have a turn around the room yourself; there were such a
lot of pretty girls when I came in.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124