" The worthy carpenter was now far more angry with himself than he had previously been with Mrs. He pulled down a chair to her left. . ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. He took up his hat and went. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer.
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