and to compound for its insensibility to
happiness with its insensibility to pain.

CHAPTER 17. Nobody's Rival

Before breakfast in the morning, Arthur walked out to look about him.
As the morning was fine and he had an hour on his hands, he crossed the
river by the ferry, and strolled along a footpath through some meadows.
When he came back to the towing-path, he found the ferry-boat on the
opposite side, and a gentleman hailing it and waiting to be taken over.

This gentleman looked barely thirty. He was well dressed, of a sprightly
and gay appearance, a well-knit figure, and a rich dark complexion. As
Arthur came over the stile and down to the water's edge, the lounger
glanced at him for a moment, and then resumed his occupation of idly
tossing stones into the water with his foot. There was something in his
way of spurning them out of their places with his heel, and getting them
into the required position, that Clennam thought had an air of cruelty
in it. Most of us have more or less frequently derived a similar
impression from a man's manner of doing some very little thing: plucking
a flower, clearing away an obstacle, or even destroying an insentient
object.

The gentleman's thoughts were preoccupied, as his face showed, and he
took no notice of a fine Newfoundland dog, who watched him attentively,
and watched every stone too, in its turn, eager to spring into the
river on receiving his master's sign. The ferry-boat came over, however,
without his receiving any sign, and when it grounded his master took him
by the collar and walked him into it.

'Not this morning,' he said to the dog. 'You won't do for ladies'
company, dripping wet. Lie down.'

Clennam followed the man and the dog into the boat, and took his seat.
The dog did as he was ordered. The man remained standing, with his hands
in his pockets, and towered between Clennam and the prospect. Man and
dog both jumped lightly out as soon as they touched the other side, and
went away. Clennam was glad to be rid of them.

The church clock struck the breakfast hour as he walked up the little
lane by which the garden-gate was approached. The moment he pulled the
bell a deep loud barking assailed him from within the wall.

'I heard no dog last night,' thought Clennam. The gate was opened by
one of the rosy maids, and on the lawn were the Newfoundland dog and the
man.

'Miss Minnie is not down yet, gentlemen,' said the blushing portress, as
they all