“Well, Jeremy, and how are you getting on with the beautiful Eva?” asked Dorothy that same day.
“I say, Doll,” replied Jeremy, whose general appearance was that of a man plunged into the depths of misery, “don’t laugh at a fellow; if you only knew what I feel—inside, you know—you wouldn’t——”
“What! are you not well? have some brandy?” suggested his sister, in genuine alarm.
“Don’t be an idiot, Doll; it isn’t my stomach, it’s here;” and he knocked his right lung, under the impression that he was indicating the position of his heart.
“And what do you feel, Jeremy?”
“Feel!” he answered with a groan; “what don’t I feel? When I am away from her I feel a sort of sinking, just like one does when one has to go without one’s dinner, only it’s always there. When she looks at me I go hot and cold all over, and when she smiles it’s just as though one had killed a couple of woodcocks right and left.”
“Good gracious, Jeremy!” interposed his sister, who was beginning to think he had gone off his head; “and what happens if she doesn’t smile?”
“Ah, then,” he replied, sadly, “it’s as though one had missed them both.”
Though his similes were peculiar, it was clear to his sister that the feeling he meant to convey was genuine enough.
“Are you really fond of this girl, Jeremy dear?” she said gently.