"Not your boisterous, heartbreaking English love, Herbert. And,
Herbert, sometimes I think you had better go home and look for a
bride there. Though you fancy that you love me, in your heart you
hardly approve of me."

"Fancy that I love you! Do you think, Isa, that a man can carry his
heart round to one customer after another as the huckster carries
his wares?"

"Yes; I think he can. I know that men do. What did your hero
Waverley do with his heart in that grand English novel which you
gave me to read? I am not Flora Mac Ivor, but you may find a Rose
Bradwardine."

"And you really wish me to do so?"

"Look here, Herbert. It is bad to boast, but I will make this
boast. I am so little selfish, that I desire above all that you
should do that which may make you most happy and contented. I will
be quite frank with you. I love you well enough to wait these four
years with the hope of becoming your wife when they are over. But
you will think but little of my love when I tell you that this
waiting would not make me unhappy. I should go on as I do now, and
be contented."

"Oh heavens!" sighed Herbert.

"But as I know that this would not suit you,--as I feel sure that
such delay would gall you every day, as I doubt whether it would not