He felt tired and disinclined for the exertion of undressing.

The shades were up; night quicksilvered the window-panes so that they were like a dark mirror reflecting his face.

He inspected his darkened features curiously; the blurred and sombre-tinted visage returned the stare.
"Not a man at all--the shadow of a man," he said aloud--"with no will, no courage--always putting off the battle, always avoiding conclusions, always skulking.

What chance is there for a man like that ?" As one who raises a glass to drink wine and unexpectedly finds water, he shrugged his shoulders disgustedly and got up.

A bath followed; he dressed leisurely, and was pacing the room, fussing with his collar, when Ferrall knocked and entered, finding a seat on the bed.
"Stephen," he said bluntly, "I haven't seen you since that break of yours at the club." "Rotten, wasn't it ?" commented Siward, tying his tie.
"Perfectly.