"I would n't talk about it, if I were you. I must go in. Won't you come in with me?"
"Not to-night," he replied. "I must be off."
"But papa might give you some advice."
"I've had too much of it now. What I want is room to breathe in once."
"I don't understand you."
"I know you don't; nobody docs, or tries to. Go in, Lizzie," he said more calmly. "I don't want you to catch cold, even if I do. Good-night." And he turned away.
The girl stood for a moment looking after him; her eye was moist. Then she pouted, "Fred's real cross to-night," and went in.
It is one of the glaring sarcasms of life to see with what complacency a shallow woman skims the surface of tragedy and thinks that she has sounded the depths.
Fred continued his walk towards home. He was thinking. It ran in him that Elizabeth was a good deal of a fool; and then he felt horrified with himself for thinking it. It did not occur to him that the hard conditions through which he had come had made him mentally and spiritually older than the girl. He was thinking of his position,
