"But, my dear boy, do you mean to tell me that even after Shams and Shadows, with its cruel satire against a woman of fashion, was published, you expected Isabel to come back to you of her own accord?"
"Yes, I did."
"Ah! Paul, you do not understand women."
"Evidently not, worse luck for me!"
Mrs. Seaton's eyes filled with tears. "I am afraid you have made a great mistake, my dear."
"I am always making them; and I find they come very expensive in the end. But I think I'll go out for a walk now; I have got such a thundering headache," said Paul, rising from his chair.
"I would, love; it will do you good."
But when he had reached the door Paul turned back, and knelt down beside Mrs. Seaton's chair and put his arms round her, as he used to do when he was a little child. "I don't know how it is," he said, "but everything I care for turns to disappointment just as it seems to be within my grasp; I was so sure of myself, and meant to be such a brilliant success, and yet I have failed all along the line. Oh! mother, comfort me."
And his mother comforted him as only his mother could.