how much in my secret heart I worshipped and adored her, for the simple reason that I did not think myself worthy of her. And all the while I accused myself of being a fool, for my sense told me that if I held back, some more fortunate man—Reginald himself, perhaps—would step in and carry off the incomparable gem. I had often essayed to speak to her, but could not find words.
'My mother urged me on with renewed energy: she told me she did not think that Helen loved Reginald. She was almost sure that, notwithstanding the inferiority of my "personal attractions," I was the elected of Helen's heart. The words nearly sent me off my head with delight, and I made up my mind to speak to her without delay. My maternal adviser told me to be courageous, and not be too ready to take no for an answer.
'I found Helen in the drawing-room with Agnes; the latter was at needlework, the former had been reading aloud.
'"A love story, of course?" I queried, affecting quiet indifference.
'"No, Julius," said Agnes, "do you think that young ladies never read about anything but love? We were very far from it, and from London, too, I can assure you, enjoying ourselves on a certain desert island with a sea-faring gentleman whose name has not been yet given to the world. The book has only just been published, and who do you think has brought us back to this stupid old city again? why, Julius Winbourne, of course."
"That will never be a favourite book with ladies," I replied, "if there is no love in it; and I cannot see how that can exist on a desert island; but it might be self-love, or love of the table, if there are plenty of oysters there."
"'You are very—well—ill-conditioned, I must say, Julius," said my sister, "to disturb our dream of future bliss on a desert island with your self-love, and your table, and oysters.
