And she, too, could use her eyes
to advantage when she chose.
"What a curious library you have, Captain Courtenay," she said,
looking, not at him, but at a row of books fitting closely into a small
case over the writing-table. Instantly the sailor was interested.
"Why 'curious,' Miss Maxwell?" he asked.
"First, in their assortment; secondly, in the similarity of their
binding. I have never before seen the Bible, Walt Whitman, and Dumas
in covers exactly alike."
"That is easily explained. They are bound to order. My real trouble
was to secure editions of equal size--an essential, you see--otherwise
they would not pack into their shelf."
"But what a gathering! Shakespeare, the _Pilgrim's Progress_,
Montaigne's Essays, Herbert Spencer, _Goethe's Life_, by Lewes, Marcus
Aurelius, Martial, Wordsworth, _The Egoist_, Thoreau, Hazlitt, and
Mitford's _Tales of Old Japan_! Where have I heard or read of that
particular galaxy of stars before?"
"Go on. You are on the right track," cried Courtenay, setting down the
teacup and hastening to Elsie's side. She was leaning on the table,
reading the titles of the books.
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