“You know, mother,” he continued, thoughtfully, “that I am not one to be loved.  I am not handsome and popular, like Morris, whom all men like and many women love; nor thoughtful and accomplished and considerate, like Henry, whom everybody esteems and respects, and of whom so much is expected.”

“Do you envy them, Barton?”

“Envy them, mother?  Don’t I love the world for loving Morris?  Don’t I follow him about to feel the gladness that he brings?  Don’t I live on the praises of Henry? and don’t I tear every man that utters a doubt of his infallibility?  Poor old Dominie Young!  I was savage on him last night, for an unnecessary remark about Henry; and I’ll go and hear him preach, to show my contrition; and penitence can’t go further.  Now, mother dear, I probably wanted this, and I am now down on the flat, hard foundation of things.  Don’t blame this Julia, and don’t think of her in connection with me.  No girl will ever scorn one of your boys but once.”

She lingered, and would have said more; but he put her away with affected gayety, and said he was coming down immediately,—­and he did.  But the melancholy chords vibrated long.

There was another overhauling of the little desk, and innumerable sketches of various excellence, having a family resemblance, with faults in common, were sent to join the departed verses.

That night, in a letter to Henry, he said:  “I’ve burned the last of my ships, not saving even a small boat.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Ridgeley pondered over the revelation which her woman’s intuitions had drawn from Barton.  No woman can understand why a son of hers should fail with any natural-born daughter of woman, and she suspected that poor Bart had, with his usual impetuosity, managed the affair badly.  No matter if he had; she felt that he was not an object of any woman’s scorn; and this particular Julia, she had every reason to know, would live to correct her impressions and mourn her folly.  She, however, was incapable of injustice to even her own sex; and if Julia did not fancy Barton, she was not to blame, however faulty her taste.  She remembered with satisfaction that she and hers were under no obligations to the Markhams, and she only hoped that her son would be equal to adhering to his purpose.  She had little fear of this, although she knew nothing of the offensive manner of his rejection, and had no intimation of what followed it.  To her, Julia was to be less than the average girl of her acquaintance.

In the afternoon the two mothers met by accident, at the store, whither Mrs. Ridgeley had gone to make a few small purchases, and Mrs. Markham to examine the newly-arrived goods.  Mrs. Ridgeley had no special inducement to waste herself on Mrs. Markham, and none to exhibit any sensibility at the treatment of Barton; her manner was an admirable specimen of the cool, neighborly, indifferently polite.  She was by nature a thorough-bred and high-spirited woman;