Gradually they won back to happy insignificant chatter, and planned that on the following evening they would go to a music-hall together. The postman broke in upon their talk. He brought two letters for René. One was from Cathleen, and very short: "There's been a row. I've been howling all night. I can't write any more. They can't understand. Vulgar they call you, and they are furious with me. They read one of your letters, opened it if you please. Not fit for a young girl. I'm not to have a heart till I can captivate a rich man old or young, and I am never to have a mind. It's just beastly the things they say, but I can do nothing." The other letter was from her mother: "DEAR SIR,--I have read your last letter to my daughter. It is not fit reading for a young girl, or indeed for any pure woman. You will oblige me by not writing again, and I have forbidden my daughter to continue your acquaintance." He passed both letters over to his mother. "I told you it was hopeless." "If you ask my opinion," replied his mother, "I should say you were well rid of her." "But I can't help loving her." Mrs. Fourmy sniffed indignantly: "Love! Well, you can call it love if you like." "I do," said he very earnestly. On which his mother staggered him by saying: "George wouldn't." In spite of himself, and against the grain, René began to think a little enviously of his brother, master unperplexed of his own and another life. IV A RETURN Why, among us a drowning man has to make for himself the very straw he's to clutch at! BOTH René and his mother were excited all day over their projected visit to a music-hall. Thrigsby had ten of these places of amusement, and they found it hard to decide which to patronize. Only one was outside the possibility of choice, because it had performing seals in the bill, and Mrs. Fourmy could not bear to see animals on the stage. René was for the low comedians, his mother for music; and at last, in the program of one of the suburban halls, she found a musical turn which had once given her immense pleasure. She talked of it all afternoon, adding all the time so generously to its wonder that René began to fear she would be disappointed with the actuality. But her anticipation was so firm as to overbear any shortcomings in the performance, and she saw and heard only what she expected to see and hear. For René there was a very droll comedian who made him shout with laughter. Mrs. Fourmy was shocked at a joke at the expense of the Deity and those who go to heaven, but she was so delighted with her son's pleasure that she swallowed her distaste and laughed too. All the way home they recapitulated their moments of delight, and laughed and melted in remembrance. It was a lovely evening, and they walked through a residential park, the roads of which were private and flanked and overhung with trees. Lovers lurked in the shadows, and their sweet murmuring could be heard. Mrs. Fourmy took her son's arm: