is Amelia Kybird, and he's got it badly. She's big enough to eat him,
but I believe that they are engaged. Perseverance has done it in his
case. He used to go about like a blighted flower--"

"I am rather busy," his partner reminded him.

Mr. Swann sighed and resumed his own labours. For some time both men
wrote in silence. Then the elder suddenly put his pen down and hit his
desk a noisy thump with his fist.

"I've got it," he said, briskly; "apologize humbly for all your candour,
and I will give you a piece of information which shall brighten your dull
eyes, raise the corners of your drooping mouth, and renew once more the
pink and cream in your youthful cheeks."

"Look here--" said the overwrought Hardy.

"Samson Wilks," interrupted Mr. Swann, "number three, Fullalove Alley,
at home Fridays, seven to nine, to the daughter of his late skipper, who
always visits him on that day. Don't thank me, Hardy, in case you break
down. She's a very nice girl, and if she had been born twenty years
earlier, or I had been born twenty years later, or you hadn't been born
at all, there's no saying what might not have happened."

"When I want you to interfere in my business," said Hardy, working
sedulously, "I'll let you know."

"Very good," replied Swann; "still, remember Thursdays, seven to nine."

"Thursdays," said Hardy, incautiously; "why, you said Fridays just now."