limpse of the
probable reverse of the picture.

But it was cold, in face of all this rain-soaked clay; cold blue-grey
clouds drove across a washed-out sky; and he still felt unwell.
Returning to his living-room where a small American stove was burning,
he prepared for a quiet evening. In a corner by the fire stood an old
packing-case. He lifted the lid and thrust his hand in: it was here he
kept his books. He needed no light to see by; he knew each volume by
the feel. And after fumbling for a little among the tumbled contents,
he drew forth a work on natural science and sat down to read. But he
did not get far; his brain was tired, intractable. Lighting his pipe,
he tilted back his chair, laid the VESTIGES face downwards, and put his
feet on the table.

How differently bashfulness impressed one in the case of the weaker
sex! There, it was altogether pleasing. Young Ocock's gaucherie had
recalled the little maid Polly's ingenuous confusion, at finding
herself the subject of conversation. He had not once consciously
thought of Polly since his return. Now, when he did so, he found to his
surprise that she had made herself quite a warm little nest in his
memory. Looked back on, she stood out in high relief against her
somewhat graceless surroundings. Small doubt she was both maidenly and
refined. He also remembered with a sensible pleasure her brisk service,
her consideration for others. What a boon it would have been, during
the past week, to have a busy, willing little woman at work, with him
and for him, behind the screen! As it was, for want of a helping hand
the place was like a pigsty. He had had neither time nor energy to
clean up. The marks of hobnailed boots patterned the floor; loose mud,
and crumbs from meals, had been swept into corners or under the
stretcher-bed; while commodities that had overflowed the shop added to
the disorder. Good Lord, no! ... no place this for a woman.

He rose and moved restlessly about, turning things over with his foot:
these old papers should be burnt, and that heap of straw-packing; those
empty sardine and coffee-tins be thrown into the refuse-pit. Scrubbed
and clean, it was by no means an uncomfortable room; and the stove drew
well. He was proud of his stove; many houses had not even a chimney. He
stood and stared at it; but his thoughts were elsewhere: he found
himself trying to call to mind Polly's face. Except for a pair of big
black eyes--magnificent eyes they seemed to him