"Perhaps, if you read to me enough, I'll improve so that even you will
enjoy talking to me," she returned, with a mischievous smile. "What did
you bring over?"

[Sidenote: A New Book]

"A new book--that is, one that we've never seen before. There is a large
box of father's books behind some trunks in the attic, and I never found
them until Sunday, when I was rummaging around up there. I haven't read
them--I thought I'd make a list of them first, and you can choose those
you'd like to have me read to you. I brought this little one because
I was sure you'd like it, after reading _Endymion_ and _The Eve of St.
Agnes_."

"What is it?"

"Keats's letters to Fanny Brawne."

The little brown book was old and its corners were dog-eared, but the
yellowed pages, with their record of a deathless passion, were still
warmly human and alive. Roger had a deep, pleasant voice, and he read
well. Quite apart from the beauty of the letters, it gave Barbara
pleasure to sit in the firelight and watch his face.

[Sidenote: A Folded Paper]

He read steadily, pausing now and then for comment, until he was
half-way through the volume; then, as he turned a page, a folded paper
fell out. He picked it up curiously.