And hereupon Helen blushed, and looked shyly downward to her friend and worshipper, the Newfoundland. Mr. Jerningham began to think that those maidenly blushes which he had observed while talking to the young lady about her father’s secretary, were only the result of a certain youthful bashfulness, very charming in a pretty girl, rather than an indication of that tender secret which he had at first suspected. Helen looked first at the dog and then at her father, just a little reproachfully. “As if I could ever be sufficiently grateful for my home, papa!” she said; and then raising those innocent blue eyes to the visitor’s face, she added, gently, “You can never imagine how papa and I love Greenlands, Mr. Jerningham, or how grateful we are to you for our beautiful home. I think it is the loveliest place in the whole world.” “And from such a traveller that opinion should stand for something,” added her father, laughing at the girl’s enthusiasm. “I am almost inclined to agree with Miss De Bergerac--with Helen, since she has given me permission to call her Helen,” said Harold, with some slight significance of tone; “I am inclined to think Greenlands the loveliest place in the world.” “And yet you so rarely come to it, Mr. Jerningham!” cried Helen. “I did not know the power of its charm until to-day. A returning wanderer is very sensitive to such impressions, you see, Helen.” “Yes, I can fancy that. But you have been in very beautiful places. You wrote to papa from Switzerland last year. Ah, how I envied you then!” “Indeed! you wish to see Switzerland?” “Oh! yes. Switzerland and Italy are just the two countries that I do really languish to behold; the first for its beauty, the second for its associations.” “Your father must contrive to take you to both countries.” “I think he would do so, perhaps, if it were not for his book. I could not be so selfish as to take him away from that.” “But the book is near completion, is it not, De Bergerac?” The student shook his head rather despondently. “It is a subject that grows upon one,” he said, doubtfully; “my material is all prepared, and the extent of it is something enormous. I find the work of classification very laborious. Indeed, there have been times when I should have well-nigh abandoned myself to despair, if it had not been for my young coadjutor.” “Ah! yes; your secretary, the young fellow I met in the park--something of a pedant and prig, is he not?” “Not the least in the world. He is a born poet.” “Indeed!” cried Mr. Jerningham, with a sneer; “your pedant is a nuisance, and your prig is a bore; but of all the insufferable creatures in this world, your born poet is the worst.” “I don’t think you will dislike Eustace Thorburn when you come to know him,” answered De Bergerac; “and I shall be very glad if you can interest yourself in his career. He is highly gifted, and I believe quite friendless.”