"I wish I was going to dear old Boston," added Ellen, sighing.
"You are to go this fall, you know."
"Maybe so; but then, Frank, you will not be there, will you?"
"Why, no," I replied, "not if I go with the ship to India; but what difference will that make?"
Ellen made no answer, and I began to feel rather queer, and marvelously inclined to make love. I had always liked Ellen very much, and lately better than ever, but, being a novice in such matters, I was in doubt whether my predilection was really bona fide love or not; it didn't seem like the love I had read about in novels; and yet I felt very miserable at the idea of Ellen's loving anybody else. I was in a desperate quandary.
"Well," said Ellen, after the lapse of a quarter of an hour, "pray what can be the subject of your thoughts?"
I am frank by nature as well as by name; and so, turning to my fair inquisitor, I said, "you know, Ellen, that I am very young yet."
"Yes, Frank."
"And that people at my age very often do not know their own minds."
"Yes, Frank."