ose, and stirred about the papers on his table, as if in
doubt; he then picked up a manuscript, and after spreading it smoothly
upon his knee, he looked up at Katharine suspiciously. He caught her
smiling.

"I believe you only ask me to read out of kindness," he burst out.
"Let's find something else to talk about. Who have you been seeing?"

"I don't generally ask things out of kindness," Katharine observed;
"however, if you don't want to read, you needn't."

William gave a queer snort of exasperation, and opened his manuscript
once more, though he kept his eyes upon her face as he did so. No face
could have been graver or more judicial.

"One can trust you, certainly, to say unpleasant things," he said,
smoothing out the page, clearing his throat, and reading half a stanza
to himself. "Ahem! The Princess is lost in the wood, and she hears the
sound of a horn. (This would all be very pretty on the stage, but I
can't get the effect here.) Anyhow, Sylvano enters, accompanied by
the rest of the gentlemen of Gratian's court. I begin where he
soliloquizes." He jerked his head and began to read.

Although Katharine had just disclaimed any knowledge of literature, she
listened attentively. At least, she listened to the first twenty-five
lines attentively, and then she frowned. Her attention was only aroused
again when Rodney raised his finger--a sign, she knew, that the meter
was about to change.

His theory was that every mood has its meter. His mastery of meters was
very great; and, if the beauty of a drama depended upon the variety
of measures in which the personages speak, Rodney's plays must
have challenged the works of Shakespeare. Katharine's ignorance of
Shakespeare did not prevent her from feeling fairly certain that plays
should not produce a sense of chill stupor in the audience, such as
overcame her as the lines flowed on, sometimes long and sometimes short,
but always delivered with the same lilt of voice, which seemed to nail
each line firmly on to the same spot in the hearer's brain. Still, she
reflected, these sorts of skill are almost exclusively masculine; women
neither practice them nor know how to value them; and one's husband's
proficiency in this direction might legitimately increase one's respect
for him, since mystification is no bad basis for respect. No one could
doubt that William was a scholar. The reading ended with the finish of
the Act; Katharine had prepared a little speech.

"That seems