Across the Widest Ocean

Chapter Three: The Library

Margery discovered that she rather liked Albert's company. The young man was tall, quiet, more on the thin side, with brown eyes that seemed to resemble the deepness of the banks of the river Nile. A place Margery had only ever read about, yet she had imagined so many times that she was sure she knew them well.

But in any case. His dark hair was well kept and styled, slightly flattened at the top, which gave the impression he had been wearing a hat. Perhaps he'd left it in the parlor, their departure had been rather swift. He'd retrieve it later, once their little tour was over.

They spoke quietly every now and then, as Margery was mostly explaining where everything was and such. Albert had shown little interest in things such as the kitchens, dining room, closets, stairwells... but had perked up immediately at the mention of a library.

Margery took him there next, and smiled as his whole demeanor changed as soon as they stepped over the threshold into the room that held such an abundance of knowledge. He traced his hands over the spines of the books, an almost giddy look in his eyes. If Margery hadn't  known better, she would have thought he'd never seen a room full of books before.

She noticed he stopped by the poetry section, looking through the titles carefully. His hands were shaking, almost. For a long time, there was silence as he looked over the books, mouthing words that Margery could not understand.

"I enjoy poetry." She said eventually, walking over to him. "Father got most of these books for me. He never cared much for litterateur beyond what is required for work. Mother liked history, but not fictional works."

Albert looked at her, eyes wide. "You read these?"

She nodded, confused by the question. "Yes. I memorized most of them, if we are speaking honestly."

Albert smiled, laughing quietly. "Oh thank goodness. I was terrified you were another one of those girls who's only interest was parties and silks and fashion and other meaningless things. Most of them wouldn't even know a book if they had seen one."

"Just because I like poetry doesn't mean I do not enjoy parties." Margery began. "I happen to enjoy fashion and dresses and such things."

"Yes, of course." Albert scratched his head. "But... you're not... empty headed. You know. Like them."

She raised a brow. "You know all of that because I like poetry?"

"It's not just that." Albert started, and Margery noticed the English accent for the first time. It was much milder than his father's, and he sounded almost American.

"The way you walk. The way you carry yourself. You don't giggle or try to fill the silence with silly nonsenses about weather or the latest gossip regarding the local girls who I wouldn't know the first thing about and yet you feel obligated to tell me about. You let the silence persist if you think I'm uncomfortable speaking, and you speak as if you know I don't want to answer based on what you've seen me already display. You're... polite. You're not like the other girls I've met who complains about how boring and dull America must be next to beautiful and 'romantic' Europe. You—" it was as if he suddenly realized he had been rambling and stopped.

"I'm quite overstepping myself, aren't l?"

"Oh, no." Margery said, sitting down. "Continue, please. Tell me how much more you know about me based on our short interactions. You seem to be very knowledgeable in my personality and what I take interest in."

Albert looked down, and... was that a blush creeping up his cheeks? If Margery didn't know better, she'd think the young man was embarrassed.

"Father always says I talk too much." He confessed. "He says that it's good that I am so observant, but tells me to keep it to myself. Childish, he calls it. Feeling as if I should share my every view and idea and observation with the world. It's not that I don't think he isn't wise, it's just— I'm doing it again, aren't l?"