In Fullalove Alley Mr. Edward Silk, his forebodings fulfilled, received the news of Amelia Kybird's faithlessness in a spirit of' quiet despair, and turned a deaf ear to the voluble sympathy of his neighbours. Similar things had happened to young men living there before, but their behaviour had been widely different to Mr. Silk's. Bob Crump, for instance, had been jilted on the very morning he had arranged for his wedding, but instead of going about in a state of gentle melancholy he went round and fought his beloved's father--merely because it was her father--and wound up an exciting day by selling off his household goods to the highest bidders. Henry Jones in similar circumstances relieved his great grief by walking up and down the alley smashing every window within reach of his stick. [Illustration: "A spirit of quiet despair."] But these were men of spirit; Mr. Silk was cast in a different mould, and his fair neighbours sympathized heartily with him in his bereavement, while utterly failing to understand any man breaking his heart over Amelia Kybird. His mother, a widow of uncertain age, shook her head over him and hinted darkly at consumption, an idea which was very pleasing to her son, and gave him an increased interest in a slight cold from which he was suffering. "He wants taking out of 'imself," said Mr. Wilks, who had stepped across the alley to discuss the subject with his neighbour; "cheerful society and 'obbies--that's what 'e wants." "He's got a faithful 'eart," sighed Mrs. Silk. "It's in the family; 'e can't 'elp it." "But 'e might be lifted out of it," urged Mr. Wilks. "I 'ad several disappointments in my young days. One time I 'ad a fresh gal every v'y'ge a'most." Mrs. Silk sniffed and looked up the alley, whereat two neighbours who happened to be at their doors glanced up and down casually, and retreated inside to continue their vigil from the windows. "Silk courted me for fifteen years before I would say 'yes,'" she said, severely. "Fifteen years!" responded the other. He cast his eyes upwards and his lips twitched. The most casual observer could have seen that he was engaged in calculations of an abstruse and elusive nature. "I was on'y seven when 'e started," said Mrs. Silk, sharply. Mr. Wilks brought his eyes to a level again. "Oh, seven," he remarked. "And we was married two days before my nineteenth birthday," added Mrs. Silk, whose own arithmetic had always been her weak point. "Just so," said Mr. Wilks. He glanced at the sharp white face and shapeless figure before him. "It's hard to believe you can 'ave a son Teddy's age," he added, gallantly. "It makes you feel as if you're getting on," said the widow. The ex-steward agreed, and after standing a minute or two in silence made a preliminary motion of withdrawal. "Beautiful your plants are looking," said Mrs. Silk, glancing over at his window; "I can't think what you do to 'em."