"Perhaps it might prove indiscreet, Mary;
our friend Potts may have become a 'mauvais
sujet' since we have seen him last?''

I wrapped myself in a mysterious silence, and
only smiled.

"Lindau, of all places to stop at!" resumed
she, pettishly. "There is nothing remarkable
in the scenery, no art treasures, nothing socially
agreeable; what can it possibly be that detains
you in such a place?"

"My dear Mary," said Crofton, "you are,
without knowing it, violating a hallowed
principle; you are no less than leading into temptation.
Look at poor Potts there, and you will
see that while he knows in his inmost heart the
secret which detains him here is some passing
and insignificant circumstance unworthy of
mention, you have, by imparting to it a
certain importance, suggested to his mind the
necessity of a story; give him now but five
minutes to collect himself, and I'll engage that
he will 'come out' with a romantic incident
that would never have seen the light but for a
woman's curiosity."

"Good Heavens!" thought I, "can this be a
true interpretation of my character? Am I the
weak and impressionable creature this would
bespeak me?" I must have blushed deeply at
my own reflection, for Crofton quickly added,

"Don't get angry with me, Potts, any more
than you would with a friend who'd say, 'Take
care how you pass over that bridge, I know it
is rotten and must give way.' "

"Let me answer you," said I, courageously,
for I was acutely hurt to be thus arraigned
before another. "It is more than likely that
you, with your active habits and stirring notions
of life, would lean very heavily on him who,
neither wanting riches nor honours, would adopt
some simple sort of dreamy existence, and think
that the green alleys of the beech wood, or the
little path beside the river, pleasanter sauntering
than the gilded ante-chamber of a palace; and
just as likely is it that you would take him
roundly to task about wasted opportunities,
and misapplied talents, and stigmatise as
inglorious indolence what might as possibly be
called a contented humility. Now, I would ask
you, why should one man be the measure of
another? The load you could carry with ease
might serve to crush me, and yet there may be
some light burdens that would suit my strength,
and in bearing which I might taste a sense of
duty grateful as your own."

"I have no patience with you," began Crofton,
warmly; but his sister stopped him with an
imploring look, and then, turning to me, said:

"Edward fancies that every one can be as
energetic and active as himself, and occasionally
forgets what you have just so well remarked as
to the relative capacities of different people."

"I want him to do something, to be
something besides a dreamer!" burst he in, almost
angrily.

"Well, then," said I, "you shall see me begin
at this moment, for I will get down here and
walk briskly back to the town." I called to the
postilions to pull up at the same time, and in
spite of remonstrances, entreaties—almost
beseechings from Mary Crofton—I persisted in
my resolve, and bade them farewell.

Crofton was so much hurt that he could
scarcely speak, and when he gave me his hand,
it was in the coldest of manners.

"But you'll keep our rendezvous, won't you?"
said Mary; "we shall meet at Rome?"

"I really wonder, Mary, how you can force
our acquaintanceship where it is so palpably
declined. Good-by—farewell," said he to me.

"Good-by," said I, with a gulp that almost
choked me; and away drove the carriage, leaving
me standing in the train of dust it had raised.
Every crack of the postboys' whips gave me a
shock as though I had felt the thong on my own
shoulders; and, at last, as sweeping round a
turn of the road the carriage disappeared from
view, such was the sense of utter desolation that
came over me, that I sat down on a stone by
the wayside, overwhelmed. I do not know if I
ever felt such an utter sense of destitution as at
that moment. "What a wealth of friends must
a man possess," thought I, "who can afford to
squander them in this fashion! How could I
have repelled the counsels that kindness alone
could have prompted? Surely Crofton must
know far more of life than I did?" From this,
I went on to inquire why it was that the world
showed itself so unforgiving to idleness in men
of small fortune, since, if no burden to the
community, they ought to be as free as their richer
brethren. It was a puzzling theme, and though
I revolved it long, I made but little of it, the
only solution that occurred to me was, that the
idleness of the humble man is not relieved by
the splendours and luxuries which surround a
rich man's leisure, and that the world resents
the pretension of ease unassociated with riches.
In what a profound philosophy was it, then, that
Diogenes rolled his tub about the streets! there
was a mock purpose in the act that must have
flattered his fellow-citizens. I feel assured that
a great deal of the butterfly-hunting and beetle-
gathering that we see around us is done in this
spirit. They are a set of idle folk anxious to
indulge their indolence without reproach.

Thus pondering and musing, I strolled back
to the town. So still and silent was it, so free
from all movement of traffic or business, that I
was actually in the very centre of it without
knowing it. There were streets without
passengers, and shops without customers, and even
cafés without guests, and I wondered within
myself why people should thus congregate to
do nothing, and I rambled on from street to
alley, and from alley to lane, never chancing
upon one who had anything on hand. At last I
gained the side of the lake, along which a little
quay ran for some distance, ending in a sort of
terraced walk, now grass-grown and neglected.
There were at least the charms of fresh air and
scenery here, though the worthy citizens seemed
to hold them cheaply, and I rambled along to
the end, where, by a broad flight of steps, the
terrace communicated with the lake; a spot,