She read it and loved it . See -- the faded rose leaves she placed in it one day are there still . I 'll write your name in it -- that quaint , pretty name of yours which always sounds as if it had been specially invented for you -- ` Kilmeny of the Orchard ' -- and the date of this perfect June day on which we read it together . Then when you look at it you will always remember me , and the white buds opening on that rosebush beside you , and the rush and murmur of the wind in the tops of those old spruces . '' He held out the book to her , but , to his surprise , she shook her head , with a deeper flush on her face . `` Wo n't you take the book , Kilmeny ? Why not ? '' She took her pencil and wrote slowly , unlike her usual quick movement . `` Do not be offended with me . I shall not need anything to make me remember you because I can never forget you . But I would rather not take the book . I do not want to read it again . It is about love , and there is no use in my learning about love , even if it is all you say . Nobody will ever love me . I am too ugly . '' `` You ! Ugly ! '' exclaimed Eric . He was on the point of going off into a peal of laughter at the idea when a glimpse of her half averted face sobered him . On it was a hurt , bitter look , such as he remembered seeing once before , when he had asked her if she would not like to see the world for herself .
`` Kilmeny , '' he said XXXXX astonishment , `` you do n't really think yourself ugly , do you ? ''
On about as at beside for if in into of