He would not at all allow that what Charley said was law, entertained fearfully democratic principles of his own, and was not at all the gentleman.

So Charley drew himself up, declined to converse any further on politics with a man who seemed to know more about them than himself, and confined himself exclusively to the inner room.
On arriving at this elysium, on the night in question, he found Mrs.Davis usefully engaged in darning a stocking, while Scatterall sat opposite with a cigar in his mouth, his hat over his nose, and a glass of gin and water before him.
'I began to think you weren't coming,' said Scatterall, 'and I was getting so deuced dull that I was positively thinking of going home.' 'That's very civil of you, Mr.Scatterall,' said the widow.
'Well, you've been sitting there for the last half-hour without saying a word to me; and it is dull.

Looking at a woman mending stockings is dull, ain't it, Charley ?' 'That depends,' said Charley, 'partly on whom the woman may be, and partly on whom the man may be.

Where's Norah, Mrs.Davis ?' 'She's not very well to-night; she has got a headache; there ain't many of them here to-night, so she's lying down.' 'A little seedy, I suppose,' said Scatterall.
Charley felt rather angry with his friend for applying such an epithet to his lady-love; however, he did not resent it, but sitting down, lighted his pipe and sipped his gin and water.
And so they sat for the next quarter of an hour, saying very little to each other.

What was the nature of the attraction which induced two such men as Charley Tudor and Dick Scatterall to give Mrs.Davis the benefit of their society, while she was mending her stockings, it might be difficult to explain.