Then there was his old love for Lilias Walsingham, and the pang of rejection, and the hope of a strong passion sometimes leaping high and bright, and sometimes nickering into ghastly shadows and darkness.
Indeed, he was by no means so companionable just now as in happier times, and was sometimes confoundedly morose and snappish--for, as you perceive, things had not gone well with him latterly.

Still he was now and then tolerably like his old self.
Toole, passing by, saw him in the window.

Devereux smiled and nodded, and the doctor stopped short at the railings, and grinned up in return, and threw out his arms to express surprise, and then snapped his fingers, and cut a little caper, as though he would say--'Now, you're come back--we'll have fun and fiddling again.' And forthwith he began to bawl his enquiries and salutations.

But Devereux called him up peremptorily, for he wanted to hear the news--especially all about the Walsinghams.

And up came Toole, and they had a great shaking of hands, and the doctor opened his budget and rattled away.
Of Sturk's tragedy and Nutter's disappearance he had already heard.