Robert Turold's dog crouched in the circle of the glow with amber eyes fixed on the old man's face as if he were a god, and Thalassa lived up to one of the attributes of divinity by not deigning to give his worshipper a sign.
Occasionally the dog lifted a wistful supplicating paw, dropping it again in dejection when it passed unregarded.
Presently Thalassa got up and went to a cupboard in the corner.

From some hidden receptacle he extracted a coil of ship's tobacco and a wooden pipe shaped into a negro's head, with little beads for eyes, such as may be bought for a few pence in shops near the London docks.

He returned to his seat, filled the pipe, lit it with a burning bough, and fell to smoking with lingering whiffs, gazing into the fire with dark gleaming eyes as motionless as the glinting beads in the negro's carved head.
The clock on the mantel-piece ticked steadily away in the silence.

The dog, with a brute recognition of the unsatisfactory nature of spiritual aspiration, descended to the care of his own affairs, and scratched for fleas which knew no other world than his hind-quarters.
"Go away, go away! You mustn't come in here!" The shrill voice of Mrs.Thalassa broke the silence like a cracked bell, shattering her husband's meditations, and causing the dog to spring to his feet.

Thalassa looked at her angrily.