"My thoughts were far, far away from hence," said Mr Vernon Wycherley; "the subject of them was my comedy, which, as you know, I intend to offer for the prize at the Haymarket." "Your comedy be hanged!" interrupted Frank. "I fear that even a direr fate than that awaits it," resumed its author. "Oh! if I had but seen _her_ before I arranged my female characters--have carried her beauteous image in my mind, as now I mentally behold her"-- "What! Molly Potts?" interposed Mr Frank Trevelyan, with a look of arch innocence--such a funny look it was, as no man living but Frank himself could possibly have given. "Pshaw," said Vernon impatiently, "how can you find the heart to mention her name, if such indeed it be, in that disagreeable tone and manner? It is enough to drive away every poetic idea connected with her. If you can only mention her name in that cold tone of contempt, I'd thank you to hold your tongue about her altogether." With this remark, the poet took a manuscript book from a pocket in his blouse, and with contracted brow, he made an entry there in pencil of some happy thought the moment had just then suggested, which occupying some minutes, his companion in the interval walked to the window to examine into the appearance of the weather, and perceiving that the rain had ceased, and one bright star already twinkled in the sky, he suggested the propriety of preparing for their immediate departure, in order that they might get over as much of their ground as they possibly could before dark. Having been directed to the path they were to pursue, which was a different one from that they had gone over when overtaken by the storm, though apparently leading in the same direction, our travellers again resumed their route. There was still good light when they started, and as long as it continued--but which was a very short time--the novelty of the surrounding desert of sand imparted some degree of interest to the scene; but, in proportion as the darkness closed in, the spirits of the pedestrians began to flag. Still, however, Frank strove to cheer up his companion, who was by far the most weary and dispirited of the two, and, as a never-failing remedy, began to talk to him about his intended comedy--its plot, and some of the most striking scenes and characters. The result was just as he had anticipated, and its author, who just before had dragged himself along in moody silence, or only replied in listless monosyllables, began to chat away upon the much-loved topic in the most animated manner possible; and so much were both engrossed with the subject, as not to perceive that, whilst traversing one of those level pieces of turf that few and far between formed a kind of tiny oasis in this desert, they had altogether missed the footpath.