Mr. Swann made no reply. His nose was immersed in the folds of a large
handkerchief, and his eyes watered profusely behind his glasses. It was
some minutes before he had regained his normal composure, and even then
the sensitive nerves of his partner were offended by an occasional
belated chuckle.

Although by dint of casual and cautious inquiries Mr. Hardy found that
his partner's information was correct, he was by no means guilty of any
feelings of gratitude towards him; and he only glared scornfully when
that excellent but frivolous man mounted a chair on Friday afternoon, and
putting the clock on a couple of hours or so, urged him to be in time.

The evening, however, found him starting slowly in the direction of
Fullalove Alley. His father had gone to sea again, and the house was
very dull; moreover, he felt a mild curiosity to see the changes wrought
by time in Mr. Wilks. He walked along by the sea, and as the church
clock struck the three-quarters turned into the alley and looked eagerly
round for the old steward.

The labours of the day were over, and the inhabitants were for the most
part out of doors taking the air. Shirt-sleeved householders, leaning
against their door-posts smoking, exchanged ideas across the narrow space
paved with cobble-stones which separated their small and ancient houses,
while the matrons, more gregariously inclined, bunched in little groups
and discussed subjects which in higher circles would have inundated the
land with libel actions. Up and down the alley a tiny boy all ready for
bed, with the exception of his nightgown, mechanically avoided friendly
palms as he sought anxiously for his mother.