Now for the first time, he
said, could he feel really settled; life was smooth before him. They
would have a comfortable home, the kind of place to which he could
invite his friends; one or two excellent fellows he knew would bring
their wives, and so Clem would have more society.
'Suppose you learn the piano, old girl? It wouldn't be amiss.
By-the-by, I hope they'll turn you out some creditable mourning.
You'll have to find a West End dressmaker.'
She listened, and from time to time smiled ambiguously. . . .
At noon of the next day Clem was walking on that part of the Thames
Embankment which is between Waterloo Bridge and the Temple Pier. It
was a mild morning, misty, but illuminated now and then with rays of
sunlight, which gleamed dully upon the river and gave a yellowness
to remote objects. At the distance of a dozen paces walked Bob
Hewett; the two had had a difference in their conversation, and for
some minutes kept thus apart, looking sullenly at the ground. Clem
turned aside, and leaned her arms on the parapet. Presently her
companion drew near and leaned in the same manner.
'What is it you want me to do?' he asked huskily.
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