"I"--began Ethel. But she stopped.

"Yes, I know now that you kept the verses," said Richard. "My next
manuscript, however, was rejected. Indeed, I went on offering my literary
productions nearly every week until the following January before a second
acceptance came. It was twenty five dollars this time, and almost made me
feel again that I could handsomely support Ethel. But not quite. After
the first charming elation at earning money with my pen, those weeks of
refusal had caused me to think more soberly. And though I was now bent
upon becoming an author and leaving Nassau Street, I burned no bridges
behind me, but merely filled my spare hours with writing and with showing
it to Ethel."

"It was now that the second area of perturbation of my life came to me. I
say the second, because the first had been the recent dawning belief that
Ethel thought about me when I was not there to remind her of myself. This
idea had stirred --but you will understand. And now, what was my proper,
my honourable course? It was a positive relief that at this crisis she
went to Florida. I could think more quietly. My writing had come to be
quite often accepted, sometimes even solicited. Should I speak to her,
and ask her to wait until I could put a decent roof over her head, or
should I keep away from her until I could offer such a roof? Her father,
I supposed, could do something for us. But I was not willing to be a
pensioner. His business--were he generous--would be to provide cake and
butter; but the bread was to be mine and bread was still a long way off,
according to New York standards. These things I thought over while she
was in Florida; yet when once I should I find myself with her again, I
began to fear that I could not hold myself from--but these are
circumstances which universal knowledge renders it needless to mention,