having all his thoughts sifted through
his mother's mind; so, when he wanted companionship, and was asked in
reply to be the billing and twittering lover, he hated his betrothed.

"You know, mother," he said, when he was alone with her at night, "she's
no idea of money, she's so wessel-brained. When she's paid, she'll
suddenly buy such rot as marrons glaces, and then I have to buy her
season ticket, and her extras, even her underclothing. And she wants to
get married, and I think myself we might as well get married next year.
But at this rate--"

"A fine mess of a marriage it would be," replied his mother. "I should
consider it again, my boy."

"Oh, well, I've gone too far to break off now," he said, "and so I shall
get married as soon as I can."

"Very well, my boy. If you will, you will, and there's no stopping you;
but I tell you, I can't sleep when I think about it."

"Oh, she'll be all right, mother. We shall manage."

"And she lets you buy her underclothing?" asked the mother.

"Well," he began apologetically, "she didn't ask me; but one
morning--and it WAS cold--I found her on the station shivering, not able
to keep still; so I asked her if she was well wrapped up. She said: 'I
think so.' So I said: 'Have you got warm underthings on?' And she
said: 'No, they were cotton.' I asked her why on earth she hadn't got
something thicker on in weather like that, and she said because she HAD
nothing. And there she is--a bronchial subject! I HAD to take her and
get some warm things. Well, mother, I shouldn't mind the money if we
had any. And, you know, she OUGHT to keep enough to pay for her
season-ticket; but no, she comes to me about that, and I have to find
the money."

"It's a poor lookout," said Mrs. Morel bitterly.

He was pale, and his rugged face, that used to be so perfectly careless
and laughing, was stamped with conflict and despair.

"But I can't give her up now; it's gone too far," he said. "And,
besides, for SOME things I couldn't do without her."

"My boy, remember you're taking your life in your hands," said Mrs.
Morel. "NOTHING is as bad as a marriage that's a hopeless failure. Mine
was bad enough, God knows, and ought to teach you something; but it
might have been worse by a long chalk."

He leaned with his back against the side of the chimney-piece, his hands
in his pockets. He was a big, raw-boned man, who looked as if he would
go to the world's end if he wanted to. But she saw the despair