Another was pity that Livingstone had never known the joy that was awaiting himself when at the end of that mile of snow he should peep into the little cosy back room (for the front room was mysteriously closed this evening), where a sweet-faced, frail-looking woman would be lying on a lounge with a half-dozen little curly heads bobbing about her.

He knew what a scream of delight would greet him as he poked his head in; and out in the darkness and cold John Clark smiled and smacked his lips as he thought of the kisses and squeezes, and renewed kisses that would be his lot as he told how he would be with them all the evening.
Yes, he was undoubtedly sorry for Livingstone, a poor lonely man in that great house; and he determined that he would not say much about his being ill.

Women did not always exactly understand some men, and when he left home, Mrs.Clark had expressed some very strong views as to Livingstone which had pained Clark.

She had even spoken of him as selfish and miserly.

He would just say now that Livingstone on his arrival had sent him straight back home.
No, Mr.Clark never thought of himself, and this made him richer than Mr.Livingstone.
When Mr.Clark reached home his expectation was more than realized.