tural or technical science.

One of his especial peculiarities--which, by-the-by, he very likely
shares with a number of his fellow-creatures--was, that he could not
bear to have any one looking over him when he was reading. In early
life, when he used to read poems, plays, or stories, this had been the
natural consequence of the desire which the reader feels, like the poet,
or the actor, or the story-teller, to make surprises, to pause, to
excite expectation; and this sort of effect was naturally defeated when
a third person's eyes could run on before him, and see what was coming.
On such occasions, therefore, he was accustomed to place himself in such
a position that no one could get behind him. With a party of only three,
this was unnecessary; and as with the present subject there was no
opportunity for exciting feelings or giving the imagination a surprise,
he did not take any particular pains to protect himself.

One evening he had placed himself carelessly, and Charlotte happened by
accident to cast her eyes upon the page. His old impatience was aroused;
he turned to her, and said, almost unkindly:

[Illustration: EDWARD READING ALOUD TO CHARLOTTE AND THE CAPTAIN]

"I do wish, once for all, you would leave off doing a thing so out of
taste and so disagreeable. When I read aloud to a person, is it not
the same as if I was telling him something by word of mouth? The
written, the printed word, is in the place of my own thoughts, of my own
heart. If a window were broken into my brain or into my heart, and if
the man to whom I am counting out my thoughts, or delivering my
sentiments, one by one, knew beforehand exactly what was to come out of
me, should I take the trouble to put them into words? When anybody looks
over my book, I always feel as if I were being torn in two."

Charlotte's tact, in whatever circle she might be, large or small, was
remarkable, and she was able to set aside disagreeable or excited
expressions without appearing to notice them. When a conversation grew
tedious, she knew how to interrupt it; when it halted, she could set it
going. And this time her good gift did not forsake her.

"I am sure you will forgive me my fault," she said, when I tell you what
it was this moment which came over me. I heard you reading something
about Affinities, and I thought directly of some relations of mine, two
of whom are just now occupying me a great deal. Then my attention went
back to the book. I found it