I said so to Miss Jillgall, and I say it again here. Nothing will induce me to think ill of Helena.

My sister is a good deal tired, and a little out of temper after the railway journey. This is exactly what happened to me when I went to London. I attribute her refusal to let me read her journal, after she had read mine, entirely¹ to the disagreeable consequences of traveling by railway. Miss Jillgall accounted for it otherwise, in her own funny manner: “My sweet child, your sister’s diary is full of abuse of poor me.” I humored the joke: “Dearest Selina, keep a diary of your own, and fill it with abuse of my sister.” This seemed to be a droll² saying at the time. But it doesn’t look particularly amusing, now it is written down. We had ginger³ wine at supper, to celebrate Helena’s return. Although I only drank one glass, I daresay it may have got into my head.

However that may be, when the lovely moonlight tempted⁴ us into the garden, there was an end to our jokes. We had something to talk about which still dwells disagreeably on my mind.

Miss Jillgall began it.

“If I trust you, dearest Euneece, with my own precious secrets, shall I never, never, never live to repent⁵ it?”

I told my good little friend that she might depend on me, provided her secrets did no harm to any person whom I loved.

She clasped her hands and looked up at the moon—I can only suppose that her sentiments overpowered her. She said, very prettily⁶, that her heart and my heart beat together in heavenly harmony. It is needless to add that this satisfied me.

Miss Jillgall’s generous confidence in my discretion⁷ was, I am afraid, not rewarded as it ought to have been. I found her tiresome⁸ at first.

She

分享到：