"I cannot--please don't; speak of something far removed."

The feeling was so deep, and yet so strongly curbed, that its
repression affected me more deeply than could its manifestation. Her
sorrow became a veiled and sacred mystery of which I could never be
wholly unconscious again; and I felt that however strong and brilliant
she might prove in our subsequent talk, I should ever see, back of
all, the tender-hearted, sensitive woman.

"Please forgive me. I was cruelly thoughtless," I said, in a voice
that trembled slightly. Then, catching up the paper, I continued, with
attempted lightness, "We have found this journal, that we mutually
read, a fruitful theme. What do you think of its literary reviews?"

Mirth and tears struggled for the mastery in her eyes; but she
answered, with a voice that had regained its clear, bell-like tone:

"In some I have seen indisputable proof of impartiality and freedom
from prejudice."

"In what did that proof consist?"

"In the evident fact that the reviewer had not read the book."

"You are severe," I said, coloring slightly.

She looked at me with a little surprise, but continued:

"That does not happen very often. It is clear that there are several
contributors to this department, and I have come to look for the