“No, my dear, that was for yourself. But this—”
“What is it?”
“I want you to come and talk to my David Howard a little while.”
The girl gave a start, and turned a little paler. “Aunt Polly,” she exclaimed, “not now! He looks so ill, it makes me nervous even to see him.”
“But, Helen, my dear, that is nonsense,” was the reply. “Mr. Howard is one of the most interesting men you ever met. He knows more than all the people in this room together, and you will forget he is an invalid when you have talked to him a while.”
Helen was, or wished to think herself, upon the heights of happiness just then, and she shrunk more than ever from anything that was wretched. “Not now, Aunt Polly,” she said, faintly. “Please wait until—”
“But, my dear,” said Aunt Polly, “now is the very time; you will wish to be with Mr. Harrison again soon. And you must meet Mr. Howard, for that is what he came for.”
“I suppose then I'll have to,” said Helen, knitting her brows; “I'll stroll over in a minute or two.”
“All right,” said the other; “and please try to get acquainted with him, Helen, for I want you to like him.”
“I will do my best,” said the girl. “He won't talk about his ailments, will he?”