He was to start for Clavering early on the following morning, intending to spend his Christmas at home, and we will see him and listen to him as he bade farewell to one of the members of Mr.Burton's family.
He was sitting in a small hack parlor in Mr.Burton's house, and on the table of the room there was burning a single candle.

It was a dull, dingy, brown room, furnished with horsehair-covered chairs, an old horsehair sofa and heavy, rusty curtains.

I don't know that there was in the room any attempt at ornament, as certainly there was no evidence of wealth.

It was now about seven o'clock in the evening, and tea was over in Mrs.Burton's establishment.

Harry Clavering had had his tea, and had eaten his hot muffin, at the further side from the fire of the family table, while Florence had poured out the tea, and Mrs.Burton had sat by the fire on one side with a handkerchief over her lap, and Mr.Burton had been comfortable with his arm-chair and his slippers on the other side.