However, there seemed to be insufficient incentive; he glanced coldly toward Cameron and resumed Herbert Spencer and his spectacles.
"Mother, don't you want to stroll on the lawn a bit ?" he asked presently.

"It looks very inviting to a city man's pavement-worn feet." She drew her light wool shawl around her shoulders and took her tall son's arm.
For a long while they strolled in silence, passed idly through the garden where masses of peonies hung over the paths, and pansies, iris, and forget-me-nots made the place fragrant.
It was not until they came to the plank bridge where the meadow rivulet, under its beds of cress and mint, threaded a shining way toward the woods, that his mother said in a troubled voice: "You are not happy, Louis." "Why, mother--what an odd idea!" "Am I mistaken ?" she asked, timidly.
"Yes, indeed, you are.

I am very happy." "Then," she said, "what is it that has changed you so ?" [Illustration: "'You are not happy, Louis.'"] "Changed me ?" "Yes, dear." "I am not changed, mother." "Do you think a mother can be mistaken in her only son?
You are so subdued, so serious.

You are like men who have known sorrow....

What sorrow have you ever known, Louis ?" "None.