Mr.Denner's sight was not what it once was; he fumbled in the breast of his bottle-green overcoat for his glasses, as a suspicion of the truth dawned upon him.
His song died upon his lips, and he turned irresolutely, as though to fly, but it was too late; he had recognized at the same moment Miss Deborah and Miss Ruth Woodhouse.

By no possibility could he say which he had seen first.
He advanced to meet them, but the spring had gone from his tread and the light from his eye; he was thrown back upon his perplexities.

The sisters, still arm in arm, made a demure little bow, and stopped to say "Good-morning," but Mr.Denner was evidently depressed and absent-minded.
"I wonder what's the matter with William Denner, sister ?" Miss Ruth said, when they were out of hearing.
"Perhaps he's troubled about his housekeeping," answered Miss Deborah.
"I should think he might be, I must say.

That Mary of his does keep him looking so! And I have no doubt she is wasteful; a woman who is economical with her needle and thread is pretty apt not to be saving in other things." "What a pity he hasn't a wife!" commented Miss Ruth.

"Adele Dale says he's never been in love.