"
"Why not?"
He shrugged his shoulders and told himself that women were sometimes
rather severe on one another. Wandering about the room, Jimmy looked
at one or two of the oleographs on the light-papered walls, and
presently his eyes rested on the hanging bookshelf.
"You have a collection of your father's novels!" he suggested.
"Have you read any of them?" she asked, with obviously quickened
interest.
"Yes, several," was the answer. He took one down from the slide. "I
was introduced to Mr. Rosser by old Faversham at Crowborough," he
continued. "I wish to goodness I had seen you at the same time!
Besides," continued Jimmy, as he turned the pages while Bridget stood
looking over his shoulder, "I met him once afterwards. That was at the
Garrick. I was dining there one evening, and he joined the party. I
remember perfectly well that he was the life and soul of it. His books
were always a delight to me, if only for their style."
Jimmy put back the volume he had been examining and took down another,
continuing to discuss its contents for ten minutes or a quarter of an
hour.
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