Her mind was on something else, and she had got two
stories mixed up and sent her manuscript without having looked it over.
She told this mishap to the Lady, as something she was dreadfully ashamed
of and could not possibly account for. It had cost her a sharp note from
the publisher, and would be as good as a dinner to some half-starved
Bohemian of the critical press.
The Lady listened to all this very thoughtfully, looking at her with
great tenderness, and said, "My poor child!" Not another word then, but
her silence meant a good deal.
When a man holds his tongue it does not signify much. But when a woman
dispenses with the office of that mighty member, when she sheathes her
natural weapon at a trying moment, it means that she trusts to still more
formidable enginery; to tears it may be, a solvent more powerful than
that with which Hannibal softened the Alpine rocks, or to the heaving
bosom, the sight of which has subdued so many stout natures, or, it may
be, to a sympathizing, quieting look which says "Peace, be still!" to the
winds and waves of the little inland ocean, in a language that means more
than speech.
While these matters were going on the Master and I had many talks on many
subjects. He had found me a pretty good listener, for I had learned that
the best way of getting at what was worth having from him was to wind him
up with a question and let him run down all of himself.
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