`` There is a false love which IS a curse . Perhaps your mother believed it was that which had entered her life and ruined it ; and so she made the mistake . There is nothing in the world -- or in heaven either , as I believe -- so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love . '' `` Have you ever loved ? '' asked Kilmeny , with the directness of phrasing necessitated by her mode of communication which was sometimes a little terrible . She asked the question simply and without embarrassment . She knew of no reason why love might not be discussed with Eric as other matters -- music and books and travel -- might be . `` No , '' said Eric -- honestly , as he thought , `` but every one has an ideal of love whom he hopes to meet some day -- ` the ideal woman of a young man 's dream . ' I suppose I have mine , in some sealed , secret chamber of my heart . '' `` I suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful , like the woman in your book ? '' `` Oh , yes , I am sure I could never care for an ugly woman , '' said Eric , laughing a little as he sat up . `` Our ideals are always beautiful , whether they so translate themselves into realities or not . But the sun is going down . Time does certainly fly in this enchanted orchard . I believe you bewitch the moments away , Kilmeny . Your namesake of the poem was a somewhat uncanny maid , if I recollect aright , and thought as little of seven years in elfland as ordinary folk do of half an hour on upper earth . Some day I shall waken from a supposed hour 's lingering here and find myself an old man with white hair and ragged coat , as in that fairy tale we read the other night . Will you let me give you this book ? I should never commit the sacrilege of reading it in any other place than this . It is an old book , Kilmeny .
A new book , savouring XXXXX the shop and market-place , however beautiful it might be , would not do for you .
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