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The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. Then he entered her passionately, riding her with exquisite precision. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her and almost leaning over her. We have come to the conclusion, Brendon and I, that Mrs. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. I can assure you, I wouldn’t be single again for worlds. That’s the difficulty.
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