Such fancies came to Ernest as he lay on the shore in his bathing
attire, happy, thoughtless,--animal.

The sun and the sea seemed to him two lovers vying for his favor. The
sudden change of environment had brought complete relaxation and had
quieted his rebellious, assertive soul. He was no longer a solitary unit
but one with wind and water, herb and beach and shell. Almost
voluptuously his hand toyed with the hot sand that glided caressingly
through his fingers and buried his breast and shoulder under its
glittering burden.

A summer girl who passed lowered her eyes coquettishly. He watched her
without stirring. Even to open his mouth or to smile would have seemed
too much exertion.

Thus he lay for hours. When at length noon drew nigh, it cost him a
great effort of will to shake off his drowsy mood and exchange his airy
costume for the conventional habilaments of the dining-room.

He had taken lodgings in a fashionable hotel. An unusual stroke of good
luck, hack-work that paid outrageously well, had made it possible for
him to idle for a time without a thought of the unpleasant necessity of
making money.

One single article to which he signed his name only with reluctance had
brought to him more gear than a series of golden sonnets.

"Surely," he thought, "the social revolution ought to begin from above.
What right has the bricklayer to grumble when he receives for a week's
work almost more than I for a song?"