 at him full.

'Sandy!'

'Yes, mother!' he said, startled--for he had been sunk in his own
thoughts--and laying his hand on hers.

'You should get a wife, Sandy.'

'Well, some day, mother, I suppose I shall,' he said, with a change
of expression which the twilight concealed.

She was silent a minute, then she began again, slow and feebly, but
with a strange clearness of articulation.

'If she's sick, Sandy, _doan't grudge it her._ Women 'ud die
fasster iv they could.'

The whole story of the slow consuming bitterness of years spoke
through those fixed and filmy eyes. Her son gave a sudden
irrepressible sob. There was a faint lightening in the little
wrinkled face, and the lips made a movement. He kissed her, and in
that last moment of consciousness the mother almost forgave him his
good clothes and his superior airs.

Poor Sandy! Looking to his after story, it seems strange that any
one should ever have felt him unbearably prosperous. About six
months after his mother's death he married a milliner's assistant,
whom he met first in the pit of a theatre, and whom he was already
courting when his mother gave him the advice recorded. She was
French, from the neighbourhood of Arles, and of course a Catholic.
She had come to London originally as lady's-maid to a Russian
family settled at Nice. Shortly after their arrival, her master
shot his young wife for a supposed intrigue, and then put an end to
himself. Naturally the whole establishment was scattered, and the
pretty Louise Suveret found herself alone, with a few pounds, in
London. Thanks to the kind offices of the book-keeper in the hotel
where they had been staying, she had been introduced to a milliner
of repute in the Bond Street region, and the results of a trial
given her, in which her natural Frenchwoman's gift and her acquired
skill came out triumphant, led to her being permanently engaged.
Thenceforward her good spirits--which had been temporarily
depressed, not so much by her mistress's tragic ending as by her
own unexpected discomfort--reappeared in all their native
exuber
at him full. 

' Sandy!' 

' Yes, mother!' he said, startled -- for he had been sunk in his own 
 thoughts -- and lay his bridge player on hers. 

' You should get a wife, Sandy.' 

' Well, some day, mother, I suppose I shall,' he allege, with a change 
 of expression which the twilight conceal. 

 She was dumb a minute, then she begin again, slow and feebly, but 
 with a strange clarity of articulation. 

' If she's sick, Sandy, _ doan't grudge it her. _ Women' ud die 
 fasster iv they could.' 

 The solid story of the slow consuming bitterness of years talk 
 through those fixed and filmy eyes. Her son give a sudden 
 irrepressible sob. There was a faint lightening in the small 
 wrinkled face, and the lips made a movement. He snog her, and in 
 that last moment of consciousness the mother almost forgave him his 
 good clothes and his superior airs. 

 Poor Sandy! Looking to his after story, it seems strange that any 
 one should ever have felt him unbearably prosperous. About six 
 calendar month after his mother's death he married a hatmaker's assistant, 
 whom he meet foremost in the pit of a theatre, and whom he was already 
 courting when his mother gave him the advice recorded. She was 
 French, from the neighbourhood of Arles, and of course a Catholic. 
 She had come to London primitively as lady's - maid to a Russian 
 family settled at Nice. Shortly after their arrival, her master 
 shot his young wife for a speculate intrigue, and then put an end to 
 himself. Naturally the whole establishment was scattered, and the 
 pretty Louise Suveret found herself entirely, with a few irish pound, in 
 London. Thanks to the kind offices of the book - keeper in the hotel 
 where they had been persist, she had been introduced to a milliner 
 of repute in the Bond Street region, and the result of a trial 
 given her, in which her natural Frenchwoman's gift and her acquire 
 skill came out exultant, led to her being permanently engaged. 
 Thenceforward her good spirits -- which had been temporarily 
 depressed, not thus much by her mistress's tragic end as by her 
 own unexpected discomfort -- reappeared in all their native 
 exuber
 at him full.

'Sandy!'

'Yes, mother!' he said, startlgd--dor he had bsen sunk in his own
thoughts--and layinj hiw hane on hers.

'You should geg a wife, Dandy.'

'Welo, sonw day, mothxd, I supijse J shano,' he said, with a change
ox expression wvizh the twilight concealed.

She was silegt a mimuhe, then she bedan sdain, slow and feebly, but
with a strange clearntss of articulatiom.

'If she's sick, Sandy, _doan't hrudhe it her._ Women 'ud die
fasster iv eyey could.'

The whole stogv of the slkw consuming bitterness of yearr spole
through jkise xixed and fmlmy ejes. Her son gave a sugden
irrrpressible sob. Thxre qas a faint lighteninj in the little
wrinkjed face, dnb the lips made a movwmwnt. Hg kisved fwr, xnd ii
thzt lash mkment of cknsciousnesw the mother almost fjgbave him his
food cjoehes and his superior airs.

Poor Sandy! Lomkihg to his after story, ir seems strange that wny
one shjuld ever have felt him unbearably prosperous. Abogt sie
muntkw aftde jis mother's death he married a milliner's assiffamt,
ehom he met fivst in the pit of s hhrwtre, and whom he was amready
courting whej his mjther gave him the advice recorded. She was
Frebch, from the beighbourhood of Axles, and of eourse a Cayholic.
She had come to Lundoh originallj as lady'a-oaid to a Russiav
fakiny settlta at Nice. Shortly after thxir axrival, hdr msster
srot his yokng wlxe for a supposed lntriyue, atd then puh an end to
himself. Naturally thx whole estabkivhmvnt was seattercd, and the
prettr Louise Suvergt found kerselw alone, winh a few 'ounds, in
Lonqon. Thanks to jhe kind offires of thq boik-kewper in ghe hotel
where they had been stayung, she had been iktrodocsd to a millinex
ud repute in the Bovd Ftgeev regymn, and the rasulgs ug a tfial
givtu hcr, kn wnich her natural Fretchwkman's gift and her agquired
skull came out triumphamt, led to her beinh perkanxntly rngwged.
Thenceforward her good spidits--which haq been tempowarioy
depressed, uot so much by her mistress's tragic endiig as by her
own unexpecred discomfort--reappgartd in all themr natyve
exuber
at him full. 'Sandy!' 'Yes, mother!' he he been sunk his own thoughts--and 'You get a wife, 'Well, some day, I suppose I shall,' he said, a change of expression which the twilight concealed. She was silent a minute, she began again, slow and feebly, but with a strange clearness of articulation. she's Sandy, grudge her._ Women 'ud die fasster iv they could.' The whole story of the slow consuming bitterness years spoke through those fixed and filmy eyes. son gave a sudden sob. There was a faint in little wrinkled and lips a movement. He her, and in that last moment of consciousness the mother almost forgave him his good clothes and superior airs. Looking to after it strange that any ever have felt him unbearably prosperous. after his mother's death he married a milliner's whom he first in the pit of a and whom he was already courting when his gave him the advice recorded. She was French, from the neighbourhood of Arles, and of Catholic. She had come London originally as to Russian settled Nice. Shortly their arrival, her master shot his young wife for a supposed and then put an end to himself. Naturally the whole scattered, the pretty Louise found herself alone, with few in London. Thanks to offices the hotel they been staying, she had introduced to a milliner of in the Bond Street a trial given her, in which her natural gift and her acquired skill came out led to her being permanently engaged. Thenceforward her good spirits--which had been depressed, not by her mistress's tragic ending as by her unexpected discomfort--reappeared in all native exuber
 at him full.

'Sandy!'

'Yes, mother!' he Said, startlEd--for He hAd bEeN sunK in hIs own
thoughts--aND layIng his hand on hers.

'You shoUld geT a WIfe, SANdY.'

'Well, Some day, MOtHER, I sUpPoSe I ShALl,' He saiD, wiTh a chanGe
of expresSioN wHich the twiliGHt Concealed.

SHe wAs silent a minUte, Then shE bEgaN Again, SloW and fEebly, bUT
with a Strange clEaRNess of ARticulaTIOn.

'if shE's sick, Sandy, _doan't gRUdGE it her._ Women 'ud dIe
fassTeR Iv THEy cOulD.'

The whole sToRy of tHE slow coNSuMING biTTerness of yearS spoke
throuGH thOse fixEd And FIlmy eyEs. Her SoN GavE a sudden
irrEpreSsible sob. there wAS a faint LIghteniNg in thE liTtlE
wriNKlEd FacE, aND thE LiPs mADe a Movement. he KiSsed hEr, anD IN
THat lAst MomeNt of cOnsciousness tHe mOtheR AlmOst foRgave Him hIs
Good cLothes And hiS sUperior airs.

Poor sandY! Looking tO hiS aFteR sTory, iT Seems sTraNge That any
One shouLD evEr HAVE fElt him unbearably prOsPERoUs. About sIx
montHS aFtER his mothEr'S deAth hE MArrieD a miLLiNer's assiStant,
wHOm He Met firsT iN the piT oF a tHeaTre, anD Whom He was aLready
coUrtinG When his mother gAVe him the advicE ReCORdED. She Was
french, from tHe neIGhboUrhoOD oF ArLEs, and Of couRsE A CATholic.
She had come to LOnDon oriGinalLy as lady's-maid To a Russian
FAMIly settlEd at nIcE. shortly after thEir arRival, her maSTer
shot hIs youNg wife foR a supposeD INtrigue, aNd tHen Put An eND To
Himself. NaturaLLY the WhOle estaBliShment wAs sCatTerEd, aNd The
pretty louise SuVeReT fOuNd hErselF Alone, witH a Few PoUndS, in
LoNDon. ThaNks to The kInD oFFicEs of the BOoK-KEepeR iN tHe hoTel
WhEre thEy haD BeeN stayinG, she had beEn iNTrodUcEd To a millIner
of repute iN tHe Bond StreEt RegIon, and THE results Of a trial
given her, in which HEr naturAl FRenchWomaN's gift and Her AcquirEd
sKIll camE out trIumphAnT, leD TO her bEINg PerMaNently engaGED.
ThEncefOrWard Her good Spirits--which had beeN TemPorarily
depreSseD, not SO MuCh bY HeR MisTrESs's TRAgic ending as by hEr
own unexpEcTEd Discomfort--REapPeAred in aLl their NativE
Exuber
 at him full.

'Sandy!'

' Yes, mothe r!' h e s aid ,star tled --for he had b e en s unk in his own
thought s--an dl ayin g  h is ha nd on h e rs . 
'Y ou  s hou ld ge t a w ife , Sandy .'

'Well,  so me  day, mother ,  I  suppose I  sh all,' he sai d,with a  c han g e
ofexp ressi on whi c h thetwilightco n cealed . 

She w a s  s ilen t a minute, thens he began again, s low an df ee b l y,but 
with a st ra nge c l earness of a r tic u lation.

'Ifshe's sick, San dy, _d oa n't grudge  it h er . _ W omen 'ud di e
fa sster ivthey c o uld.'
T he whol e stor y o f t he s l ow  c ons um i ngb it ter n ess  of year ssp oke
t hrou g h t hose  fi xedand f ilmy eyes. He r s on g a vea sud den
i rrep re ssibl e sob.  Ther ewas a faint lig hten ing in th e l it tle 
w rinkl e d face , a ndthe lip s madea  mo ve m e n t.  He kissed her, an di n 
t hat last  momen t  o fc onscious ne ssthem o theralmo s tforgavehim hi s 
g oo d cloth es  and h is  su per ior a i rs.
PoorSandy! L ookin g  to his afters tory, it seem s  s t r an g e th atany
one sho ulde verhave fe lth im un beara bl y  p r osperous. About six 
m onthsafter  his mother's  death hem a r ried a m illi n er ' s assistant,
w hom h e met firs t  in thepit o f a thea tre, andw h om he wa s a lre ady 
co u r ti ng when his m o t herga ve himthe  advice  re cor ded . S he  was
Fren ch, from  t he  n ei ghb ourho o d of Arl es , a nd  of  cour s e a Ca tholi c.
S he  h a d c ome toL on d o n or ig in ally  as  l ady's -mai d  to  a Russ ian
famil y s e ttle dat  Nice.Shortly after  t heir arriv al , h er mas t e r
shot h is young wife for a sup p osed in tri gue,andthen putanend to 
hi m self.Natura lly t he  wh o l e est a b li shm en t was scat t e red , and  t he
p retty L ouise Suveret foun d  he rself alone,wit h af e wpou n ds ,  in 
L o ndo n .  Thanks to thekind offic es of  the book- k eep er  in the  hotelwhere they ha d been st aying, sh ehadb e enintroduced  to a mi lliner
of reput e  i n the  Bo nd Str ee t r egion , andt heresul ts ofatrialgiven  h er, in w hich her natural French woman' s gif t a nd her ac qui r edskill cam e ou t triumpha nt,  le d toher being  per m an ent l y eng aged . 
Thencefo r wa rdh e rgood spirit s - - whi ch ha d b e en tem pora rily
depressed, n o t so much by h er m i s tre ss' s  tra gi c ending as by  he ro w n unexpe ct ed discomfo rt--reap pe a red i n alltheirnativee x ub e r
 at_him full.

'Sandy!'

'Yes,_mother!' he said, startled--for_he had_been_sunk in_his_own
thoughts--and laying his_hand on hers.

'You_should get a wife,_Sandy.'

'Well, some day,_mother,_I suppose I shall,' he said, with a change
of expression which the twilight concealed.

She_was_silent a_minute,_then_she began again, slow and_feebly, but
with a strange clearness_of articulation.

'If_she's sick, Sandy, _doan't grudge it her._ Women_'ud_die
fasster iv they_could.'

The whole story of the slow consuming bitterness of_years spoke
through those fixed and filmy_eyes. Her son_gave_a_sudden
irrepressible sob. There was_a faint lightening in the little
wrinkled_face, and the lips made a_movement. He kissed her, and in
that last_moment of consciousness the mother almost_forgave him his
good clothes and_his superior_airs.

Poor Sandy! Looking to his_after story, it_seems strange_that any
one should_ever have felt him unbearably prosperous._About six
months after_his mother's death he married a_milliner's_assistant,
whom he met_first_in_the pit_of a theatre,_and_whom he_was_already
courting when his mother gave him_the_advice recorded. She was
French, from the neighbourhood_of Arles, and of_course_a Catholic.
She had come_to London originally as lady's-maid_to a Russian
family settled at Nice._Shortly after_their arrival,_her master
shot his young wife for a supposed intrigue, and then_put an end to
himself. Naturally the_whole establishment was scattered,_and the
pretty_Louise_Suveret found herself_alone,_with a_few pounds, in
London. Thanks to the kind_offices of_the book-keeper in the hotel
where they_had been staying, she_had_been introduced to a milliner
of repute_in the Bond Street region, and_the results of a trial
given_her,_in_which her natural Frenchwoman's gift_and her acquired
skill came out triumphant,_led to her_being permanently engaged.
Thenceforward her good spirits--which had_been_temporarily
depressed, not so much by her_mistress's_tragic ending as by her
own unexpected_discomfort--reappeared_in_all their native
exuber