At last, with a cajoling but really alarming audacity, she went for him
straight.
"Of course, dear Mr. Pogson, Harry has told me all about your wonderful
novel," she said. "I am so interested, so thrilled--and so grateful to
you for letting me join your audience to-night. But I want quite
frightfully to know more. Speaking not only for myself, but for all who
are present, may I implore a further revelation? Pray don't send us
empty away in respect of the wonderful book. It would be so lovely
while we sit here at your feet."...
She, in fact, sat by his side, her chair placed decidedly close to his.
"If you would read us a chapter.... A chapter is impossible?"...
Her charming, pliant mouth; her charming dancing eyes; her caressing
voice--I won't swear even her caressing hands didn't, for a brief
space, take part--all wooed him to surrender.
"Well, a page then, a paragraph? Ah! don't be obdurate. The merest
sentence? Surely we may claim as much as that? Picture our pride, our
happiness."
She enclosed us all in a circular and sympathetic glance, which ended,
as it had started, by meeting his mild eyes, lingering appealingly upon
his large, pink countenance.
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