"It would be a terrible thing," said I confidentially to myself, "if
Stuart Harley were to fall in love with a creation of his own
realism."
CHAPTER IX: A SUMMONS NORTH
"PORTIA. A quarrel, ho, already? What's the matter?
"GRATIANO. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring."
- "Merchant of Venice."
The events just narrated took place on the 15th of August, and as
Harley's time to fulfil his contract with Messrs. Herring, Beemer, &
Chadwick was growing very short--two weeks is short shrift for an
author with a book to write for waiting presses, even with a willing
and helpful cast of characters--so I resolved not to intrude upon him
until he himself should summon me. I knew myself, from bitter
experience, how unwelcome the most welcome of one's friends can be at
busy hours, having had many a beautiful sketch absolutely ruined by
the untimely intrusion of those who wished me well, so I resolutely
kept myself away from his den, although I was burning with curiosity
to know how he was getting on.
On occasions my curiosity would get the better of my judgment, and I
would endeavor, with the aid of my own muses, to hold a moment's chat
with Miss Andrews; but she eluded me.
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