“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 Shelton saw from the fixed beam in her eyes that she had not an inkling. To do him justice, he was not so foolish as to try to give her one. Mrs. Shelton sighed. “It would be so lovely if you could wake up to-morrow and think differently. If I were you, my dear, I would have a good long walk, and then a Turkish bath; and then I would just write to her, and tell her all about it, and you'll see how beautifully it'll all come straight”; and in the enthusiasm of advice Mrs. Shelton rose, and, with a faint stretch of her tiny figure, still so young, clasped her hands together. “Now do, that 's a dear old Dick! You 'll just see how lovely it'll be!” Shelton smiled; he had not the heart to chase away this vision. “And give her my warmest love, and tell her I 'm longing for the wedding. Come, now, my dear boy, promise me that's what you 'll do.” And Shelton said: “I'll think about it.” Mrs. Shelton had taken up her stand with one foot on the fender, in spite of her sciatica. “Cheer up!” she cried; her eyes beamed as if intoxicated by her sympathy. Wonderful woman! The uncomplicated optimism that carried her through good and ill had not descended to her son.