“Isn’t he bewitching?” May rhapsodized. “Did you ever see any one in your life half so handsome? Oh, he’s simply adorable!”
“And did he give you all those photographs?”
“Oh, dear no! I bought them all with my own pocket-money. I love him so dearly that I dream of him almost night and day, and I buy a copy of every fresh portrait of him that is issued. Oh, if you could only imagine how I love him!”
“And does he return your love?”
“Unfortunately for me, he does not know me. He has never even seen me.”
“Then I suppose you fell in love with him on the stage.”
“No, he is nearly always on tour, and I have never seen him act. Indeed, I have never seen him at all. I just saw a photograph of him in a shop-window, and straightway fell in love with it. You may think it only a passing fancy. But I feel that if I could only look upon his face, my greatest dreams of earthly bliss would be realized, and I would be content to die.”
“Mere romance, my dear girl. You will come across some one in the flesh who will prove much more charming than the counterfeit presentments of your adorable actor, who, by-the-by, becomes engaged to a fresh young lady about every six months.”
“I can’t help it. He is just all in all to me, and I shall never marry so long as he remains single. If, after all my devotion, my hero marries another woman, then I may think of accepting a gentleman who proposes to me every three months. Meanwhile, I have a little consolation. I often take a look at his house at Kensington, in the hope of catching a glimpse of him through one of the windows.”
And in this style May meandered on, the while I wondered whether she were really sane or not. She was evidently badly smitten, and by mere portraits, which must have revealed to her many beauties of expression which were hidden to me, for I could only look upon them as the faithful presentments of a man whom I had heard spoken of as selfish, conceited and unscrupulous in his dealings with women.