One of his especial peculiarities—­which, by-the-by, he very likely shares with a number of his fellow-creatures—­was, that he could not bear to have any one looking over him when he was reading.  In early life, when he used to read poems, plays, or stories, this had been the natural consequence of the desire which the reader feels, like the poet, or the actor, or the story-teller, to make surprises, to pause, to excite expectation; and this sort of effect was naturally defeated when a third person’s eyes could run on before him, and see what was coming.  On such occasions, therefore, he was accustomed to place himself in such a position that no one could get behind him.  With a party of only three, this was unnecessary; and as with the present subject there was no opportunity for exciting feelings or giving the imagination a surprise, he did not take any particular pains to protect himself.

One evening he had placed himself carelessly, and Charlotte happened by accident to cast her eyes upon the page.  His old impatience was aroused; he turned to her, and said, almost unkindly: 

[Illustration:  Edward reading aloud to Charlotte and the captain]

“I do wish, once for all, you would leave off doing a thing so out of taste and so disagreeable.  When I read aloud to a person, is it not the same as if I was telling him something by word of mouth?  The written, the printed word, is in the place of my own thoughts, of my own heart.  If a window were broken into my brain or into my heart, and if the man to whom I am counting out my thoughts, or delivering my sentiments, one by one, knew beforehand exactly what was to come out of me, should I take the trouble to put them into words?  When anybody looks over my book, I always feel as if I were being torn in two.”

Charlotte’s tact, in whatever circle she might be, large or small, was remarkable, and she was able to set aside disagreeable or excited expressions without appearing to notice them.  When a conversation grew tedious, she knew how to interrupt it; when it halted, she could set it going.  And this time her good gift did not forsake her.

“I am sure you will forgive me my fault,” she said, when I tell you what it was this moment which came over me.  I heard you reading something about Affinities, and I thought directly of some relations of mine, two of whom are just now occupying me a great deal.  Then my attention went back to the book.  I found it was not about living things at all, and I looked over to get the thread of it right again.”

“It was the comparison which led you wrong and confused you,” said Edward.  “The subject is nothing but earths and minerals.  But man is a true Narcissus; he delights to see his own image everywhere; and he spreads himself underneath the universe, like the amalgam behind the glass.”

“Quite true,” continued the Captain.  “That is the way in which he treats everything external to himself.  His wisdom and his folly, his will and his caprice, he attributes alike to the animal, the plant, the elements, and the gods.”