Solitary Island, Part III, Chapters II-III [pp. 70-93]

i88~.] SOLITARY JsLAKD.
Women know one another thoroughly, and she was a sharp.mind
ed female, generous and over-willing in giving advice, and would
be happy to help one of her warmest admirers. She was residing for the summer in a villa on the Jersey coast, whither the
Count and himself often journeyed to dine, as it was but an hour's
ride from New York. It had surprised the gentlemen that she
should choose so quiet a spot instead of following the fashionable
crowd.
"Well, I am in a mood," said Mrs. Merrion, "a serious mood,
and I am going there to read, to think, to listen to the sea roaring, and to enjoy the moonlight nights alone."
"She must have some exquisite plot hatching," was the
count's comment; but Florian, who thought he understood her
better, saw no reason to doubt the plain meaning of her words.
There was time to catch the noon boat and return late the
same evening, and he hurried away at once to the dock. In the
hall he met Paul' coming in from a walk up-town. The poet
looked pale and dragged, and his step had lost its springiness.
"HaIloo!" said Florian, with a coldness which all his assumed
ofthandness could not hide. "How is the drama getting on?"
"So, so," answered Paul, with a weary smile, as he climbed
the stairs to the attic chamber. A coolness had come between
them since Ruth's departure. They avoided one another as
much as possible because of the strain which it cost to keep up
a semblance of the old familiarity. To Paul it was a real pain,
for he saw no cause why they should degenerate into mere acquaintances; but so fate had ordained, and they drifted apart day
by day until they had lost sight of each other. When he reached his attic he found Peter in the customary attitude on the bed
snoring as if he had not enjoyed eight hours of sleep the preceding night. He did not wake him, but the noise of moving
about brought Peter's eyes into view, much swollen and leering
doubtfully.
"I kem up, Paul, b'y," said he, "`to have a chat an' a smoke~
an seeinL ye were gone, I made meself comfortable. Was it
sleepin' I was? An' snorin' too? Well, it's a convanient place
to snore. Ye disturb nobody. Yer lookin' pale, b'y, wid yer
long, beautiful face an' yer yallow curls! There's not a purtier
b'y in New York than yer own self this minit, an' ye have a
heart which isn't a gizzard like that blackguard politician~s.
Yer workin' too hard; night an' day yer always at it. Sure
yer a rich dramatist now an' can afford to be idle for a while.
Throw sorrow to the winds an' dull care to the' dogs, an' take a