'Here's news for you, then. She's well to do now, and a widow.
And if you like to have her, why you can.'

'And how do you know that, Affery?'

'Them two clever ones have been speaking about it.--There's
Jeremiah on the stairs!' She was gone in a moment.

Mrs Flintwinch had introduced into the web that his mind was busily
weaving, in that old workshop where the loom of his youth had
stood, the last thread wanting to the pattern. The airy folly of
a boy's love had found its way even into that house, and he had
been as wretched under its hopelessness as if the house had been a
castle of romance. Little more than a week ago at Marseilles, the
face of the pretty girl from whom he had parted with regret, had
had an unusual interest for him, and a tender hold upon him,
because of some resemblance, real or imagined, to this first face
that had soared out of his gloomy life into the bright glories of
fancy. He leaned upon the sill of the long low window, and looking
out upon the blackened forest of chimneys again, began to dream;
for it had been the uniform tendency of this man's life--so much
was wanting in it to think about, so much that might have been
better directed and happier to speculate upon--to make him a
dreamer, after all.




CHAPTER 4