Next day he began his picture . At first he had thought of painting her as the incarnation of a sea spirit , but decided that her moods were too fitful . So he began to sketch her as `` Waiting '' -- a woman looking out across the bay with a world of hopeless longing in her eyes . The subject suited her well , and the picture grew apace . When he was tired of work he made her walk around the shore with him , or row up the head of the bay in her own boat . He tried to draw her out , at first with indifferent success . She seemed to be frightened of him . He talked to her of many things -- the far outer world whose echoes never reached her , foreign lands where he had travelled , famous men and women whom he had met , music , art and books . When he spoke of books he touched the right chord . One of those transfiguring flashes he delighted to evoke now passed over her plain face . `` That is what I 've always wanted , '' she said hungrily , `` and I never get them . Aunt hates to see me reading . She says it is a waste of time . And I love it so . I read every scrap of paper I can get hold of , but I hardly ever see a book . '' The next day Reeves took his Tennyson to the shore and began to read the Idylls of the King to her . `` It is beautiful , '' was her sole verbal comment , but her rapt eyes said everything . After that he never went out with her without a book -- now one of the poets , now some prose classic . He was surprised by her quick appreciation of and sympathy with the finest passages . Gradually , too , she forgot her shyness and began to talk .
She knew nothing XXXXX his world , but her own world she knew and knew well .
So across around as by of over that to with