Nell of Shorne Mills

The boy's badinage, Nell's half-shy delight, filled Drake with joy; even

Mrs. Lorton's folly only amused him. He leaned back and drank his tea

and ate his toast--he knew that Nell had made it, and every morsel was

sweet to him--with a feeling of happiness too deep for words. And yet

there was anxiety mixed with his happiness. Was the delight only that

which would arise in the heart of a young girl, a child, at the visit of

a friend?

"Shall we go down and look at the boat?" he asked, after he had

dutifully listened to some more of Mrs. Lorton's remarks on fashion and

nobility.

"Right you are!" said Dick; "and if you will promise to behave yourself

like a decent member of society, you shall come too, Nell. You won't

mind my bringing my little sister, sir?"

Drake smiled, but the smile died away as they walked down to the jetty;

he could have dispensed with the presence of Nell's little brother.

"We might go for a short sail, mightn't we?" he said, as they stood

looking at the boat. "Pity you didn't bring your gun, Dick!"

"Oh, I can fetch it!" said Dick promptly. "I shan't be ten minutes."

Drake waved to Brownie to bring the _Annie Laurie_ to the steps, and

helped Nell into the boat; then ran up the sail, and pushed off.

"Aren't we going to wait for Dick?" said Nell innocently.

"Oh, we'll just cruise about till he comes," said Drake. "Let me take

the tiller."

He steered the boat for the bay, and lit his pipe. It was just as if he

had not left Shorne Mills; and, as he looked around at the multicolored

cliffs, the sky dyed by the setting sun with vivid hues of crimson and

yellow, and at Nell's lovely and happy face, he thought of the world in

which he had moved last night; and its hollowness and falsity, its

restless pursuit of pleasure, its selfish interests appalled him. He had

resolved, or only half resolved, perhaps, last night, that he would "cut

it"--leave it forever. Why shouldn't he? Why should he go back?

Even before he had met Nell, he had been utterly weary of the old life;

and, even if he had still hankered after it, it was now not possible for

him. It was very improbable that he would inherit the title and estates;

he had quarreled with his uncle; he had learned the bitter truth, that

the women of his set were incapable of a disinterested love. And he had

desired to be loved for himself alone. Does not every man desire it?