in sentences, or with voices that were a commentary on the text, as if they were telling you what to think ... they preferred reading to being read to; they read as if they were the authors of the text. Nothing could get through them but what they saw. They were like showmen.... "Go on, dear." "My voice is getting tired. It must be all hours. I ought to have gone; ages ago," said Miriam settling herself in the little chair with the book standing opened on the floor at her side. "The time does pass quickly, when it is pleasantly occupied." A cigarette now would not be staying on. It would be like putting on one's hat. Then the visit would be over; without having taken place. The incident would have made no break in freedom. They had been both absent from the room nearly all the time. Perhaps that was why husbands so often took to reading to their wives, when they stayed at home at all; to avoid being in the room listening to their condemning silences or to their speech, speech with all the saucepan and comfort thoughts simmering behind it. "I haven't had much time to attend to study. When you've got to get your living there's too much else to do." Miriam glanced sharply. Had she wanted other things in the years of her strange occupation? She had gone in for nursing sentimentally and now she knew the other side; doing everything to time, careful carrying out of the changing experiments of doctors. Her reputation and living depended on that; their reputation and living depended on her. And she had to go on, because it was her living.... Miss Dear was dispensing little gestures with bent head held high and inturned eyes. She was holding up the worth and dignity of her career. It had meant sacrifices that left her mind enslaved. But all the same she thought excuses were necessary. She resented being illiterate. She had a brain somewhere, groping and starved. What could she do? It was too late. What a _shame_ ... serene golden comeliness, slender feet and hands, strange ability and knowledge of the world, and she knew, _knew_ there was something that ought to be hers. Miriam thrilled with pity. The inturned eyes sent out a challenging blue flash that expanded to a smile. Miriam recoiled battling in the grip of the smile. "I wish you'd come round earlier to-morrow dear, and have some supper here." "How long are you going to stay here?" ... to come again and read further and find that strange concentration that made one see into things. Did she really like it? "Well dear you see I don't know. I must settle up my affairs a little. I don't know where I am with one thing and another. I must leave it in the hands of an 'igher power." She folded her hands and sat motionless with inturned eyes, making the little movements with her lips that would lead to further speech, a flashing forth of something.... "Well, I'll see" said Miriam getting up. "I shall be looking for you." CHAPTER XXXI