The secret romance had been very dear and pleasant. The
end was come, however, and he was eager to pass it.
His eye was attracted to a chemist's window, and entering the shop
hastily, he purchased a bottle of smelling salts. The act reminded him
of Mrs. Mitchell, and that he had not heard from her for several months.
He resolved to write that night, and permitted his mind to wander to the
green Island which was almost lost among his memories. The respite was
brief, however.
To his relief he found Mrs. Croix in her intellectual habit. The lady,
who was reading in the door of her boudoir above the garden steps,
exclaimed, without formal greeting:--
"I am transported, sir. Such descriptions never were written before.
Listen!"
Hamilton, who hated descriptions of scenery at any time, and was in his
most direct and imperative temper, stood the infliction but a moment,
then asked her attention. She closed the book over her finger and smiled
charmingly.
"Forgive me for boring you," she said graciously. "But you know my
passion for letters; and if truth must be told, I am a little piqued.
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