The Monticellonian., 1899-07-21
Among the Mists
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THE cliff was brown with autumn,
 and the sun Was changing the grey sea to blood-red where sea and sky met. The waters seemed iIIimit able, but few miles across were the shores of France. The strains of the band which was playing on the pier were mellowed when they reached the cliff, and the haekneYed song of the cornet solo was not without romance.
 Clifford Davenport felt this us he settled himself on Il seat near the verge of the cliff. He MAS artistic. and the soft loNeliness of the evening soothed his soul. She would come. he knew. She had come regularly every night. and his brief holiday from the hurry of Fleet street had been very pleasant. for nature had made him an artist be fore the world forced him to become u journalist.
 IL had been an ordinary seaside tiirta tion. She had redgold hair. and he an artists appreciation, and the three weeks had been quite idyllic. Now he felt Il little uncomfortable, for he was going to intlict pain. He was going 10 say goodbye, for the affair had not been serious on his part; and. besides there was somebody else who had not red-gold hair. but Was rather vulgar and rather rich. He was conscious of some amount of pity for her, and was pleased with himself for it. Yet he feared the dumb sorrow of her eNes He knew the sorrow would be dumb. because she was q woman and could suffer in silence. Presently she came moving softly across the Drowned grass to the seat and sank gracefully into it. He threw away the cigar he Was smok= ing.
 "Ah. Clifford, how restful you look, Why do not men cultivate rest more? They are not generally so eager to dc nothing"
 "No; they set out with being eager to do something, bnt they are in doubt as to its nature.'
 And end bN doing nothing. The rt- suit is the same. That must be very dispiriting. don't you think? IL ae- counts, though. for the terrible ugli- ness of middle-aged men
 All middle-aged men are not ugly" he remarked, with q consciousness that 37 years might be considered as border ing on that doldrums of existence.
 .les. No man who is not ugly k middle-aged. He is either young or old"
 May. do you remember that We first met each other three weeks ago.
  eternity"
 He moved mcomfortably That k equivocal."
 'ls il? Aren't all things equiNocal- all nice things? Three weeks they have been very happy"
 Yes. very happy. What q pity il k that Providence. or fate. or some con trolling influence. does not rest al these happy periods. and murder Time,
 Poor Time. He would revenge himself by murdering the happiness The unutterahle sweetness of these periods is their tiecting nature"
 .Fleeting?" he looked up >urprised She was taking away the ball from him and he resented it.
 Did l sa! heetine9? But they are tleeting, aren't they? No great happi- ness stays forever. \ perfect gown is out of fashion almost before il i> put on."
 "A gown" he eiaculatcd. How can you think of gowns with such sun set ."
 Il don't know, Il seemed natural. Yau being d man would think of Hoar pipe or Nour cigar you were smoking when | came. you know and |. being a woman, think of gown"
 You look very we'll he admitted. critically.
 Yes. knew you would say that be aapse il is true. II is appropriate you see it is soft gray aud your artistic spirit would naturally ap- prove
 Appropriate,
 Every day has its predominant color. Tonight will be gray. you said we have known each other three weeks fear
 "Nou feara'
 Clifford. have you ever noticed that when any great thing is going to hap pen. any event which will leave behind il one of those tender regrets which haunt a life like the joy of dream which passes in waking. nature seems to put on the half mourning of gray a.'
 ''.fhe red is dying out of The sea and tl.e sky has grown gray. See. the mists re creeping up the cliff. and they are gray. too"
 It is nature mourning the event which is coming to pass with us
 He moved again. uncomfortably All this was so much i'll the nature of what ae had planned To say himself. He felt