John Hewett was engaged in mending one of the chairs, of which the legs had become loose.

He looked with surprise at the visitor, and at once averted his face sullenly.
'Mr.Hewett,' Kirkwood began, without form of greeting, 'on Saturday morning I heard something that I believe I ought to have let you know at once.

I felt, though, that it was hardly my business; and somehow we haven't been quite so open with each other just lately as we used to be.' His voice sank.

Hewett had risen from his crouching attitude, and was looking him full in the face with eyes which grew momentarily darker and more hostile.
'Well?
Why are you stopping?
What have you got to say ?' The words came from a dry throat; the effort to pronounce them clearly made the last all but violent.
'On Friday night,' Sidney resumed, his own utterance uncertain, 'Clara left her place.

She took a room not far from Upper Street, and I saw her, spoke to her.