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 was not about living things at all, and I
looked over to get the thread of it right again."