Though she was looking straight ahead as they walked down the street, she could sense that his gaze was turned toward her. “It is of interest to me,” he said.
Mary suddenly turned her head to look him in the face. He had a soft smile, and his gaze was warm. She couldn’t tolerate it for long. With a blush, she looked forward again.
Hoping and praying she wasn’t making a mistake, she said, “I make notes of my thoughts about what I read.”
Mr. Goulding looked down at the stack of paper he was carrying. “You must read a great deal.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. She hoped he would not ask what she read, but at this point it seemed almost inevitable.
“What kinds of things do you read?” he asked.
“Anything I can,” she answered. “I have read every book in my father’s collection except those that are written in Latin.”
“I am almost certain that some of Mr. Bennet’s books are in Greek,” said Mr. Goulding. “I distinctly remember borrowing Plato’sRepublicfrom him just before heading off to Cambridge.Have you read that as well?”
Mary nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.
“I am surprised Mr. Bennet was willing to teach you Greek,” he said. “I would not have thought he had that kind of patience.”
“I taught myself,” she said.
Mr. Goulding stopped walking and turned to her. “How on Earth did you do that?” he asked, shock clearly written on his face.
Mary ducked her head, praying to God above that the ground would open and swallow her whole. “My father still has his Greek primer from his youth, and he has a Greek to English dictionary.”
“So, using only those two books, you learned an entire language well enough to understand Plato’s philosophies,” he said.
Embarrassment had robbed Mary of the ability to speak, so she just nodded. Then she began walking again. She didn’t know whether she wished Mr. Goulding would keep up with her or whether she hoped he would stay behind. He chose the former.
They walked in silence for a time. Even though Mary had intended to call at her aunt’s home, she found herself walkingback toward Longbourn. If her life depended on it, she would not have been able to say why.
“Would you be willing to share some of your writing with me?” asked Mr. Goulding.
“I would rather not,” she said. “It is all very disorganized, since I tend to write exactly what I am thinking as I think it.”
“Then, perhaps you would be willing to share your thoughts with me,” he said. “I have not had anyone to discuss such topics with since leaving school seven years ago. Young men in London seldom have ancient Greek philosophy on their mind, and here at home, all my parents read are novels and the newspaper. I would very much like to hear your perspective on some of the classics, not just Plato.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mary, finally finding a voice for her confusion. “Why would you wish to discuss Greek philosophy with an uneducated young lady?”
“Hardly uneducated,” he said. “If you taught yourself Greek, you certainly have more knowledge than three quarters of my classmates. But to answer your question, I am honestly curious. Many of my ideas and thoughts on such topics were given to me by my tutors and teachers. I would love to hear the thoughts of someone who read Plato without anyone telling them what to think.”
“Very well,” said Mary, hesitantly. “If you truly think I can be of use in such a way, I will share my thoughts. Please, please understand that I have no inkling as to whether I am correct about anything, though. As you said, my ideas were formed from my own understanding without any help from anyone.”
Mr. Goulding began asking her questions about her reading, what she thought of this passage, had she read that book, and so on. Everything she said was accepted. He neither scoffed at herignorance nor made fun of her unladylike thoughts or habits. He occasionally argued a point, but she could tell that it was only to help her think a little deeper.
The half-hour walk from Meryton to Longbourn flew by, and before she realized it, they were at her door. “Would you like to come in for some refreshments?” Mary asked.
He shook his head. “Not today,” he said, “but I would very much like to call on you again soon to continue our conversation.”
Shyly and uncertainly, Mary smiled. “I would like that very much. Thank you for carrying my paper for me.”
Mr. Goulding handed her the package of paper. Then he bowed and took his leave. Once he was out of sight, Mary entered the house and floated up the stairs to her room to put her paper away.
