came together in the garden. Then she said to the master of the
dog, 'Mr Clennam, sir,' and tripped away.

'Odd enough, Mr Clennam, that we should have met just now,' said
the man. Upon which the dog became mute. 'Allow me to introduce
myself--Henry Gowan. A pretty place this, and looks wonderfully well
this morning!'

The manner was easy, and the voice agreeable; but still Clennam thought,
that if he had not made that decided resolution to avoid falling in love
with Pet, he would have taken a dislike to this Henry Gowan.

'It's new to you, I believe?' said this Gowan, when Arthur had extolled
the place. 'Quite new. I made acquaintance with it only yesterday
afternoon.'

'Ah! Of course this is not its best aspect. It used to look charming in
the spring, before they went away last time. I should like you to have
seen it then.'

But for that resolution so often recalled, Clennam might have wished him
in the crater of Mount Etna, in return for this civility.

'I have had the pleasure of seeing it under many circumstances during
the last three years, and it's--a Paradise.'

It was (at least it might have been, always excepting for that wise
resolution) like his dexterous impudence to call it a Paradise. He only
called it a Paradise because he first saw her coming, and so made her
out within her hearing to be an angel, Confusion to him! And ah! how
beaming she looked, and how glad! How she caressed the dog, and how the
dog knew her! How expressive that heightened colour in her face, that
fluttered manner, her downcast eyes, her irresolute happiness! When had
Clennam seen her look like this? Not that there was any reason why he
might, could, would, or should have ever seen her look like this,
or that he had ever hoped for himself to see her look like this; but
still--when had he ever known her do it!

He stood at a little distance from them. This Gowan when he had talked
about a Paradise, had gone up to her and taken her hand. The dog had put
his great paws on her arm and laid his head against her dear bosom. She
had laughed and welcomed them, and made far too much of the dog, far,
far, too much--that is to say, supposing there had been any third person
looking on who loved her.

She disengaged herself now, and came to Clennam, and put her hand in his
and wished him good morning, and gracefully made as if she would take
his arm and be escorted into the house. To this Gowan had no objection.
No, he knew he was too s