arted to my feet, and then sank back again in confusion; for what
was there to go away for?

He rose and bowed, and resumed his seat and his book.

The room was quite small, and we were very near each other. How I could
possibly have missed seeing him as I entered, now surprised me. I longed
to go away, but did not dare do anything that would seem rude. He
appeared very much engrossed with his book, but I, for my part, could
not read a word, and was only thinking how I could get away. Possibly he
guessed at my embarrassment, for after about ten minutes he arose, and
coming up to the table by which I sat, he took up a card, and placed it
in his book for a mark, and shut it up, then made some remark to me
about the day.

The color was coming and going in my face.

He must have felt sorry or curious, for he did not go directly away, and
continued to talk of things that did not require me to answer him.

I do not know what it was about his voice that was so different from the
ordinary voices of people. There was a quality in it that I had never
heard in any other. But perhaps it was in the ear that listened, as well
as the voice that spoke. And apart from the tones, the words I never
could forget. The most trivial things that he ever said to me, I can
remember to this day.

I believe that this was not of my imagination, but that others felt it
in some degree as I did. It was this that made him such an invaluable
teacher; he impressed upon those flesh-and-blood boys, in that one
summer, more than they would have learned in whole years from ordinary
persons. It was not very strange, then, that I was smitten with the
strangest interest in all he said and did, and that his words made the
deepest impression on me.

No doubt it is pleasant to be listened to by one whose face tells you
you are understood; and the tutor was not in a hurry to go away. He had
got up from the window, I know, with the intention of going out of the
room, but he continued standing, looking down at me and talking, for
half an hour at least.

The soft morning wind came in at the open door and window, with a scent
of rose and honeysuckle: the pretty little room was full of the early
sunshine in which there is no glare: I can see it all now, and I can
hear, as ever, his low voice.

He talked of the book I held in my hand, of the views on the river, of
the pleasantness of country life. I fancy I did not say much, though I
never am able to remember