His body also responded to the influences of the time of day, and the love of nature freshened into the natural love of cupboard. Hunger awoke in his system somewhere, and spread sweet pictures in a tasteful part. For a "moment of supreme agony" he wrestled with the coarse material instinct, then turned on his heel, as our novelists say, and made off for his father's kitchen. His poor mother caught him the moment he came in, and pulled off his hat and his opera-cloak, and frizzled up his curls for him. She seemed to think that he must have been for a journey of at least a hundred leagues; that the fault of his going was hers, and the virtue of his ever coming back was all his own. Then she looked at him slyly, and with some sadness, and yet a considerable touch of pride, by the light of a three-wicked cocoa-candle; and feeling quite sure that she had him to herself, trembled at the boldness of the shot she made: "Oh, Kit, why have you never told me? I have found it all out. You have fallen in love!" Christopher Fermitage Sharp, Esquire--as he always entitled himself, upon the collar of spaniel or terrier--had nothing to say for a moment, but softly withdrew, to have his blush in shadow. Of all the world, best he loved his mother--before, or after, somebody else--and his simple, unpractised, and uncored heart, was shy of the job it was carrying on. Therefore he turned from his mother's face, and her eager eyes, and expectant arms. "Come and tell me, my darling," she whispered, trying to get a good look at his reluctant eyes, and wholly oblivious of her promise to his father. "I will not be angry at all, Kit, although you never should have left me to find it out in this way." "There is nothing to find out," he answered, making a turn towards the kitchen stairs. "I just want my supper, if there is anything to eat." "To eat, Kit! And I thought so much better of you. After all, I must have been quite wrong. What a shame to invent such stories!" "You must have invented them, yourself, dear mother," said Kit with recovered bravery. "Let me hear it all out when I have had my supper." "I will go down this moment, and see what there is," replied his good mother eagerly. "Is there anything, now, that can coax your appetite?" "Yes, mother, oysters will be over to-morrow. I should like two dozen fried with butter, and a pound and a quarter of rump-steak, cut thick, and not overdone." "You shall have them, my darling, in twenty minutes. Now, be sure that you put your fur slippers on; I saw quite a fog coming over Port Meadow, as much as half an hour ago. This is the worst time of year to take cold. 'A May cold is a thirty-day cold.' What a stupe I must be," she continued to herself, "to imagine that the boy could be in love! I will take care to say not another word, or I might break my promise to his father. What a pity! He has a noble moustache coming, and only his mother to admire it!"