and white, with her hair as compact and precise as a resolution at a
public meeting which had been passed even by the women present. She was
severe and decisive, and without recognition of anything there but the
tariff of the house, and sold her refreshments as in a simple yet
exacting ritual which she despised, but knew to be righteous.

It was many months since I had been there. Macandrew was no nearer than
Rotterdam, and perhaps would not see London that voyage. There had been
a long period in which change had been at work at the docks, even to
their improvement, but through it all not one of my old friends had
returned home. They had approached no nearer than Falmouth, the
Hartlepools, or Antwerp, with a slender chance that they would come to
the Thames, and next we heard of them when they were bound outwards once
more, and for a period known not even to their wives. The new _Negro
Boy_ had not the appearance of a place where I could expect to find a
friend, and I was leaving it again, instantly, when a tall figure rose in
a corner waving a reassuring hand. I did not recognize the man, but
thought I knew his smile, which made me look at him in dawning hope. The
grin, evidently knowing its power, was maintained till I saw it
indubitably as Hanson's. He made a remembered gesture with his
spectacles. "I was just about sick of this place," he said. "I've
waited here for an hour hoping somebody would turn up. Where's Macandrew
now?"

"In Rotterdam. I don't think he will be home this voyage."

"And what's happened to this house? Where's the old man?"

"You know all I know about it. I haven't been here for nearly a year.
We must expect progress to make things better than they were. Where have