Hilliard saw him smooth his silk hat as he went; then, without glancing at the card, he threw it away.
The next morning was cold and wet.

He lay in bed till eleven o'clock, when the charwoman came to put his rooms in order.

At mid-day he left home, had dinner at the nearest place he knew where a meal could be obtained on Sunday, and afterwards walked the streets for an hour under his umbrella.

The exercise did him good; on returning he felt able to sit down by the fire, and turn over the plates of his great book on French Cathedrals.

This, at all events, remained to him out of the wreck, and was a joy that could be counted upon in days to come.
He hoped Narramore would keep his promise, and was not disappointed.