As he let the pages of the book slip by under his thumb, he stopped, and with a very good French accent, quite different from Hilda's memory of Miss Miranda's, murmured in a sort of chanting--"_Dieu qui sourit et qui donne_." "That's the very one!" cried Hilda.
"Ah! There you are then! You see--the bookmark was at that page." Hilda had not noticed the thin ribbon almost concealed in the jointure of the pages.

"I wouldn't be a bit astonished if my father had lent her this very book! Curious, isn't it ?" It was.

Nevertheless, Hilda felt that his sense of the miraculousness of life was not so keen as her own; and she was disappointed.
"I suppose you're very fond of reading ?" he said.
"No, I'm not," she replied.

Her spirit lifted a little courageously, to meet his with defiance, like a ship lifting its prow above the threatening billow.

Her eyes wavered, but did not fall before his.
"Really! Now, I should have said you were a great reader.