PERPLEXITIES Coulson and Philip were friendly, but not intimate.

They never had had a dispute, they never were confidential with each other; in truth, they were both reserved and silent men, and, probably, respected each other the more for being so self-contained.

There was a private feeling in Coulson's heart which would have made a less amiable fellow dislike Philip.

But of this the latter was unconscious: they were not apt to exchange many words in the room which they occupied jointly.
Coulson asked Philip if he had enjoyed himself at the Corneys', and Philip replied,-- 'Not much; such parties are noane to my liking.' 'And yet thou broke off from t' watch-night to go there.' No answer; so Coulson went on, with a sense of the duty laid upon him, to improve the occasion--the first that had presented itself since the good old Methodist minister had given his congregation the solemn warning to watch over the opportunities of various kinds which the coming year would present.
'Jonas Barclay told us as the pleasures o' this world were like apples o' Sodom, pleasant to look at, but ashes to taste.' Coulson wisely left Philip to make the application for himself.

If he did he made no sign, but threw himself on his bed with a heavy sigh.
'Are yo' not going to undress ?' said Coulson, as he covered him up in bed.
There had been a long pause of silence.