"I know you do," Henry would say, grudgingly, "and I suppose maybe a little exercise is good for you; but those fellers from Alford who come over here don't have to work, and as for Guy Lawson, the boss's son, he's a fool! He couldn't earn his bread and butter to save his life, except on the road digging like a common laborer.

Playing golf! Playing! H'm!" Then was the time for Horace's fresh cigar.
When Henry came in sight of the cottage where he lived he thought with regret that Horace was not there.

Being in a more pessimistic mood than usual, he wished ardently for somebody to whom he could pour out his heart.

Sylvia was no satisfaction at such a time.

If she echoed him for a while, when she was more than usually worn with her own work, she finally became alarmed, and took refuge in Scripture quotations, and Henry was convinced that she offered up prayer for him afterward, and that enraged him.
He struck into the narrow foot-path leading to the side door, the foot-path which his unwilling and weary feet had helped to trace more definitely for nearly forty years.