ur swelling hearts, in our eyes
heavy with tears. We want sympathy at all costs; we run about showing
our bleeding vitals, asking one another whether they are not indeed a
horrible sight. Englishmen now are proud of being womanish, and nothing
is more manly than to weep. To be a man of feeling is better than to be
a gentleman--it is certainly much easier. The halt of mind, the maim,
the blind of wit, have come by their own; and the poor in spirit have
inherited the earth.

James had left England when this emotional state was contemptible. Found
chiefly in the dregs of the populace, it was ascribed to ignorance and
to the abuse of stimulants. When he returned, it had the public
conscience behind it. He could not understand the change. The persons he
had known sober, equal-minded, and restrained, now seemed violently
hysterical. James still shuddered, remembering the curate's allusions to
his engagement; and he wondered that Mary, far from thinking them
impertinent, had been vastly gratified. She seemed to take pleasure in
publicly advertising her connection, in giving her private affairs to
the inspection of all and sundry. The whole ceremony had been revolting;
he loathed the adulation and the fulsome sentiment. His own emotions
seemed vulgar now that he had been forced to display them to the gaping
crowd.

But the function of the previous day had the effect also of sealing his
engagement. Everyone knew of it. Jamie's name was indissolubly joined
with Mary's; he could not break the tie now without exposing her to the
utmost humiliation. And how could he offer her such an affront when she
loved him devotedly? It was not vanity that made him think so, his
mother had told him outright; and he saw it in every look of Mary's
eyes, in the least inflection of her voice. James asked himself
desperately why Mary should care for him. He was not good-looking; he
was silent; he was not amusing; he had no particular attraction.

James was sitting in his room, and presently heard Mary's voice calling
from the hall.

"Jamie! Jamie!"

He got up and came downstairs.

"Why, Jamie," said his father, "you ought to have gone to fetch Mary,
instead of waiting here for her to come to you."

"You certainly ought, Jamie," said Mary, laughing; and then, looking at
him, with sudden feeling: "But how seedy you look!"

James had hardly slept, troubling over his perplexity, and he looked
haggard and tired.

"I'm all right," he said; "I'm