It was a pleasure to listen to it.

Frank had often heard her read, but it seemed to him never with such expression as at that moment.
The sunlight, falling through the small west window, illuminated her face, making it almost radiant, and touched with brighter tints Elsie's crown of golden hair.
"I wish I were a painter!" he thought.

"I should like to preserve that scene.

If I could have that to hang in my room, it would be like a flash of sunshine to look at.

But no painter could do it justice.