Three weeks later, when the days were lengthening quickly and London was beginning to show its better side to the cross-grained people who abuse its climate, the gas was lighted again in the dingy rooms in Hare Court.

No one but the old woman who came to sweep had visited them since Mr.Van Torp had gone into the country in March, after Lady Maud had been to see him on the evening of his arrival.
As then, the fire was laid in the grate, but the man in black who sat in the shabby arm-chair had not put a match to the shavings, and the bright copper kettle on the movable hob shone coldly in the raw glare from the incandescent gaslight.

The room was chilly, and the man had not taken off his black overcoat or his hat, which had a broad band on it.

His black gloves lay on the table beside him.

He wore patent leather boots with black cloth tops, and he turned in his toes as he sat.