her to yourself, and that pays for every thing."

"Oh, _peutetre!_" Fenton returned dubiously, perfectly well aware
that the remark had been made to elicit comment, yet too fond of
talking to resist temptation and leave it unanswered, "_peutetre_,
though I never believed in the desert-island theory. It is more in your
line; you still have faith in it."

"Oh, I do," she rejoined quickly; "and so would you if you were in
love. You'd be content to be on a rock in the mid ocean if she were
there."

"Love on a desert island," returned the young man, smiling
significantly; "Oh, _le premier jour, c'est bon; le deuxieme jour, ce
n'est pas si bon; le troisieme jour--mon Dieu, mais comment on
s'ennuie!_"

"No, no, no," Helen broke in impetuously. "Good, always! Always,
always, or never!"

Fenton threw back his head and burst into a shout of laughter.

"'Twere errant folly to presume,
Love's flame could burn and not consume,"

he sang, going off again into peals of laughter. "Good by, _mon
amie_; oh, _mais comment on s'en--_"

"Stop," interrupted she. "I'll have no more blasphemy."