"Wait: I will show you;" and then, without pause, she began to repeat
something of mine word for word, just as I had written it. On she went,
and I--listened. I intended interrupting her after a moment, but I did
not, because she was reciting so well, and also because I felt a desire
gaining upon me to see what she would make of a certain conversation
which I knew was coming--a conversation between two of my characters
which was, to say the least, sphinx-like, and somewhat incandescent as
well. What won me a little, too, was the fact that the scene she was
reciting (it was hardly more than that, though called a story) was
secretly my favorite among all the sketches from my pen which a
gracious public has received with favor. I never said so, but it was;
and I had always felt a wondering annoyance that the aforesaid public,
while kindly praising beyond their worth other attempts of mine, had
never noticed the higher purpose of this little shaft, aimed not at the
balconies and lighted windows of society, but straight up toward the
distant stars. So she went on, and presently reached the conversation:
my two people began to talk. She had raised her eyes now, and was
looking at me soberly as she gave the words of the woman, quiet,
gentle, cold, and the replies of the man, bitter, hot, and scathing.
Her very voice changed, and took, though always sweetly, the different
tones required, while no point of meaning, however small, no breath of
delicate emphasis which I had meant, but which the dull types could not
give, escaped an appreciative and full, almost overfull, recognition
which startled me. For she had understood me--understood me almost
better than I had understood myself. It seemed to me that while I had
labored to interpret, partially, a psychological riddle, she, coming
after, had comprehended its bearings better than I had, though
confining herself strictly to my own words and emphasis. The scene
ended (and it ended rather suddenly), she dropped her eyes, and moved
her hand nervously to and fro over the box she held; her gloves were
old and shabby, her hands small.

I was secretly much surprised by what I had heard, but my ill-humor was
deep-seated that day, and I still felt sure, besides, that the box
contained something which I was expected to buy.

"You recite remarkably well," I said carelessly, "and I am much
flattered also by your appreciation of my attempt. But it is not, I
presume, to that alone that I o