"I suppose," thought Howard, watching her as she folded up the coverlet, "that in order to be consistent I ought to do that. What right have I to ask people to do things for me that I wouldn't do myself?"
But he conversed cheerfully, even while Mrs. Orr rearranged his canvases, placing one picture where its corner poked into another. Presently she went away, sending Annabel in to dust.
Annabel paused by the cheap little book-case.
"I like to read," she said suggestively, trailing her dust-cloth into some water that had overflowed from a vase, and dragging it over a new copy of La Farge's lectures on art. "I'm awful fond of books."
"Are you?" said the young man, coming out of a fit of abstraction. "Oh see here, Annabel, don't do that. Books oughtn't to be mopped, you know. What do you like to read?"
"Everything." Annabel's eyes began to shine, and she seated herself for a conversation.
