ittle and the only subject of
which, barring sport and society, they had any real knowledge, was
politics, and this they vowed too fatiguing for the tropics. They
preferred the language of compliment, they loved to dawdle, to hold a
skein of worsted, to read a novel aloud, or "The Yellowplush Papers"
or selections from "Boz"; when tired of female society, or when it
was too hot to hunt or fish, they retired to the gaming tables. Anne
had never dreamed that the genus man could be so little stirring, and
although she was flattered by their attentions, particularly by those
of Mr. Abergenny, and her natural coquetry was often responsive, for
mere youth must have its way, she was appalled by her general sense of
disappointment and wondered what her future was to be. She had no
desire to return to her manor, and for a season in London she cared as
little. She would have been glad to remain on Nevis, but to this she
knew that Mrs. Nunn would not hearken. London was inevitable; and
possibly she would meet some intelligent and interesting man who would
help her to bury romance and fulfil the proper destiny of woman.

She wondered to-day as she had wondered once or twice before, could
she have loved Byam Warner in spite of his unlikeness to her
exaggerated ideal had she found him a normal member of society, as
fine in appearance as his years and his original endowment deserved.
It was a question to which she could find no answer, but certainly his
conversation, could she but permit herself to enjoy it, must be far
superior to that of anyone else on Nevis. And a flirtation with the
poet of the day would have been exciting, something to remember, a
feather in her cap. She had her share of feminine vanity--it grew
daily, she fancied--and it was by no means unfed by the manifest
admiration, possibly love, of this great poet in his ruin. Whatever
his tribute might be worth, it was offered to none but herself, and if
the man were beneath consideration the poet was of a radiance
undimmed.

Suddenly it occurred to her that did he tread his present straight and
hygienic path for a full year he might indeed be his old self when
next she came to Nevis. The island was healthy at all seasons, those
who lived on it were immune from fever. Nature would remake what
Warner had unmade too early to have destroyed root and sap. Many a man
had sown his wild oats and lived to a hale old age. Would that mean
that next winter Byam Warner would be han