He also smiled at the same time--or, rather, beamed--his eyes glowing with a warm, magnetic, seemingly affectionate light.
As it happened, old Peter Laughlin had arrived at that psychological moment when he was wishing that some such opportunity as this might appear and be available.

He was a lonely man, never having been able to bring himself to trust his peculiar temperament in the hands of any woman.

As a matter of fact, he had never understood women at all, his relations being confined to those sad immoralities of the cheapest character which only money--grudgingly given, at that--could buy.

He lived in three small rooms in West Harrison Street, near Throup, where he cooked his own meals at times.

His one companion was a small spaniel, simple and affectionate, a she dog, Jennie by name, with whom he slept.