Mr.Brimsdown was no gallant, nor had he sufficient imagination to prompt him to wonder what dead girl's dainty fingers had once held up the bright fragile circle to the sun to see if Love's tryst was to be kept.

His joy in the sun-dial was the pride of the collector in the possession of a rare thing.
But that night it failed to interest him.

He put it down with a sigh, and resumed his restless pacing of the room.
It was his office, but he preferred it to his chambers at the end of the passage.

He said the air was better, but it is doubtful whether that was the reason.

Perhaps Mr.Brimsdown felt less lonely among his legal documents, meditating over battles he had won for dead legatees.