ed an author, famous or otherwise.
Yet, his choice of words, his demeanor, the hint of some foreign
influence in his accent--the way he talked of Liszt--all pointed to an
intimacy with the most literate form of the English language. Through
clear thoughts and meticulous expression--rather than through
haphazardly quoting other men--he exuded what she believed was a real
professorial air, built upon a solid foundation without pretense. She
found him refreshingly attractive, both for his own sake and as a
change from the pompous professors she encountered so often in the
library. As she drifted into sleep, the hot water bottle pressed
against herself, she hoped she would have the opportunity for another
such conversation with Professor Bridwell.

* * * * *

Gretchen's cart of books was extraordinarily loaded. Rather than push
it slowly between the stacks as she reshelved books, she stopped the
cart at the end of each row and carried a few books at a time to their
proper places. The library was more quiet than usual, and despite the
overwhelming number of books she had to replace that day she worked
rather slowly. Lost in thought, she hummed to herself, not so loudly
that any patron who happened to be about could hear, but loud enough
for her own amusement. She had just returned to the cart and pushed it
to the next row. She lifted another armful of books, choosing those
whose home was in that particular row, and turned to walk slowly,
watching the numbers. She glanced at each book when she shelved it,
lamenting that she had too little time that day--there could be no
stolen moments of reading, even briefly. She stood on her toes to
reach an upper shelf and stopped humming for a moment. The sound of a
footfall reached her at that instant, and she gave the book a quick
shove.

"Good day, Miss Haviland."

Gretchen looked around to see a fine pair of wool trousers, as she
returned her weight fully to her feet. Following upward with her eyes,
she felt a pleasant blush. "Professor Bridwell, you startled me!" she
exclaimed.

"Careful," he returned, reaching his hand above her head. Gretchen
looked up to see that he pushed the book further onto the shelf; she
had left it precariously tottering on the edge. "You almost lost one,
Miss Haviland."

"Oh dear," she laughed, and grasped the rest of the books more securely
to her chest. She continued to walk easily down the row, with her w