The Island by Richard Whiteing — Read

So now, I think, I begin to see why I have been sent here -- not to give lessons, but to take them. My education has been neglected, and I am coaching for a pass in the higher learning of life. I am reading with Victoria -- reading in the deep eyes, without book. It is a course of social economy by a new method. The method is to look on this image of the Divine, as intently as may be without being caught in the act. I must not be caught; half of the gusty anger of the gods with adoring mortals comes of their dislike of being stared at. And, besides looking, there must be listening -- listening with the heart. The ear will not do; the true message of this exquisite piece of being is only for a finer organ. Put a microphone in a cave, and it will register the beat of the earth's breathing: with a still more delicate instrument, perhaps, this girl's elemental nature, at its stillest, will be heard to speak. As soon as my heart was stirred, then truly she began to be audible to me -- blessed day!

And to give me delight, as well as profit, she has not the faintest idea of her function. Often I get the benefit of a whole morning's lecture, requiring copious notes, while, for all she knows of it, I have but watched her as she manœuvred a battalion of fowls.