CHAPTER XI

ooks,”heremarked,“but,allthesame,youknowaboutthem.Besides,whowantsyoutobelearned?Leavethattothepoordevilswho’vegotnothingbettertodo.You—you—ahem!—” “Well,then,whydon’tyoureadmesomethingbeforeIgo?”saidKatharine,lookingatherwatch. “Katharine,you’veonlyjustcome!Letmeseenow,whathaveIgottoshowyou?”Herose,andstirredaboutthepapersonhistable,asifindoubthethenpickedupamanuscript,andafterspreadingitsmoothlyuponhisknee,helookedupatKatharinesuspiciously.Hecaughthersmiling. “Ibelieveyouonlyaskmetoreadoutofkindness,”heburstout.“Let’sfindsomethingelsetotalkabout.Whohaveyoubeenseeing?” “Idon’tgenerallyaskthingsoutofkindness,”Katharineobserved“however,ifyoudon’twanttoread,youneedn’t.” Williamgaveaqueersnortofexasperation,andopenedhismanuscriptoncemore,thoughhekepthiseyesuponherfaceashedidso.Nofacecouldhavebeengraverormorejudicial. “Onecantrustyou,certainly,tosayunpleasantthings,”hesaid,smoothingoutthepage,clearinghisthroat,andreadinghalfastanzatohimself.“Ahem!ThePrincessislostinthewood,andshehearsthesoundofahorn.(Thiswouldallbeveryprettyonthestage,butIcan’tgettheeffecthere.)Anyhow,Sylvanoenters,accompaniedbytherestofthegentlemenofGratian’scourt.Ibeginwherehesoliloquizes.”Hejerkedhisheadandbegantoread. AlthoughKatharinehadjustdisclaimedanyknowledgeofliterature,shelistenedattentively.Atleast,shelistenedtothefirsttwenty-fivelinesattentively,andthenshefrowned.HerattentionwasonlyarousedagainwhenRodneyraisedhisfinger—asign,sheknew,thatthemeterwasabouttochange. Histheorywasthateverymoodhasitsmeter.Hismasteryofmeterswasverygreatand,ifthebeautyofadramadependeduponthevarietyofmeasuresinwhichthepersonagesspeak,Rodney’splaysmusthavechallengedtheworksofShakespeare.Katharine’signoranceofShakespearedidnotpreventherfromfeelingfairlycertainthatplaysshouldnotproduceasenseofchillstuporintheaudience,suchasovercameherasthelinesflowedon,sometimeslongandsometimesshort,butalwaysdeliveredwiththesameliltofvoice,whichseemedtonaileachlinefirmlyontothesamespotinthehearer’sbrain.Still,shereflected,thesesortsofskillarealmostexclusivelymasculinewomenneitherpracticethemnorknowhowtovaluethemandone’shusband’sproficiencyinthisdirectionmightlegitimatelyincreaseone’srespectforhim,sincemystificationisnobadbasisforrespect.NoonecoulddoubtthatWilliamwasascholar.ThereadingendedwiththefinishoftheActKatharinehadpreparedalittlespeech. “Thatseemstomeextremelywellwritten,Williamalthough,ofcourse,Idon’tknowenoughtocriticizeindetail.” “Butit’stheskillthatstrikesyou—nottheemotion?” “Inafragmentlikethat,ofcourse,theskillstrikesonemost.” “Butperhaps—haveyoutimetolistentoonemoreshortpiece?thescenebetweenthelovers?There’ssomerealfeelinginthat,Ithink.Denhamagreesthatit’sthebestthingI’vedone.” “You’vereadittoRalphDenham?”Katharineinquired,withsurprise.“He’sabetterjudgethanIam.Whatdidhesay?” “MydearKatharine,”Rodneyexclaimed,“Idon’taskyouforcriticism,asIshouldaskascholar.IdaresaythereareonlyfivemeninEnglandwhoseopinionofmyworkmattersastrawtome.ButItrustyouwherefeelingisconcerned.Ihadyouinmymindoften