r with healthy people. As will the bones in a worn face, the
spirit underlying things had reached the surface; the meanness and
intolerable measure of hard facts, were too apparent. Some craving for
help, some instinct, drove him into Kensington, for he found himself
before his, mother's house. Providence seemed bent on flinging him from
pole to pole.

Mrs. Shelton was in town; and, though it was the first of June, sat
warming her feet before a fire; her face, with its pleasant colour,
was crow's-footed like the little barber's, but from optimism, not
rebellion. She, smiled when she saw her son; and the wrinkles round her
eyes twinkled, with vitality.

"Well, my dear boy," she said, "it's lovely to see you. And how is that
sweet girl?"

"Very well, thank you," replied Shelton.

"She must be such a dear!"

"Mother," stammered Shelton, "I must give it up."

"Give it up? My dear Dick, give what up? You look quite worried. Come
and sit down, and have a cosy chat. Cheer up!" And Mrs. Shelton; with
her head askew, gazed at her son quite irrepressibly.

"Mother," said Shelton, who, confronted by her optimism, had never,
since his time of trial began, felt so wretchedly dejected, "I can't go
on waiting about like this."

"My dear boy, what is the matter?";

"Everything is wrong!"

"Wrong?" cried Mrs. Shelton. "Come, tell me all, about it!"

But Shelton, shook his head.

"You surely have not had a quarrel----"

Mrs. Shelton stopped; the question seemed so vulgar--one might have
asked it of a groom.

"No," said Shelton, and his answer sounded like a groan.

"You know, my dear old Dick," murmured his mother, "it seems a little
mad."

"I know it seems mad."

"Come!" said Mrs. Shelton, taking his hand between her own; "you never
used to be like this."

"No," said Shelton, with a laugh; "I never used to be like this."

Mrs. Shelton snuggled in her Chuda shawl.

"Oh," she said, with cheery sympathy, "I know exactly how you feel!"

Shelton, holding his head, stared at the fire, which played and bubbled
like his mother's face.

"But you're so fond of each other," she began again. "Such a sweet
girl!"

"You don't understand," muttered Shelton gloomily; "it 's not her--it's
nothing--it's--myself!"

Mrs. Shelton again seized his hand, and this time pressed it to her
soft, warm cheek, that had lost the elasticity of youth.

"Oh!" she cried again; "I understand. I know exactly what you 're
feeling." But She