. . And listen!
Down at Silverside I've been reading the most delicious thing--the Mimes
of Herodas!--oh, so charmingly quaint, so perfectly human, that it seems
impossible that they were written two thousand years ago. There's a
maid, in one scene, Threissa, who is precisely like anybody's maid--and
an old lady, Gyllis--perfectly human, and not Greek, but Yankee of
to-day! Shall we reread it together?--when you come down to stay with us
at Silverside?"
"Indeed we shall," he said, smiling; "which also reminds me--"
He drew from his breast-pocket a thin, flat box, turned it round and
round, glanced at her, balancing it teasingly in the palm of his hand.
"Is it for me? Really? Oh, please don't be provoking! Is it _really_ for
me? Then give it to me this instant!"
[Illustration: "Turning, looked straight at Selwyn."]
He dropped the box into the pink hollow of her supplicating palms. For a
moment she was very busy with the tissue-paper; then:
"Oh! it is perfectly sweet of you!" turning the small book bound in
heavy Etruscan gold; "whatever can it be?" and, rising, she opened it,
stepping to the window so that she could see.
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