fficulty,Igothimtomakethetourofthehouse.HejustlookedinatthedoorsIopened;andwhenhehadwanderedupstairsanddownstairs,hesaidImusthavegohroughagreatdealoffatigueandtroubletohaveeffectedsusiderablegesinsoshortatime:butnotasyllabledidheutterindigpleasureintheimprovedaspectofhisabode.

    Thissilencedampedme.Ithoughtperhapsthealterationshaddisturbedsomeoldassociationshevalued.Iinquiredwhetherthiswasthecase:nodoubtinasomewhatcrest-fallentone.

    “Notatall;hehad,orary,remarkedthatIhadscrupulouslyrespectedeveryassociation:hefeared,indeed,Imusthavebestowedmorethoughtoerthanitwasworth.Howmanyminutes,forinstance,hadIdevotedtostudyingthearraofthisveryroom?—By-the-bye,couldItellhimwheresuchabookwas?”

    Ishowedhimthevolumeontheshelf:hetookitdown,andwithdrawingtohisacedwindowrecess,hebega.

    Now,Ididnotlikethis,reader.St.Johnwasagoodman;butIbegantofeelhehadspokentruthofhimselfwhenhesaidhewashardandcold.Thehumanitiesaiesoflifehadnoattraforhim—itspeacefulenjoymentsnocharm.Literally,helivedonlytoaspire—afterwhatwasgooda,certainly;butstillhewouldneverrest,norapproveofothersrestingroundhim.AsIlookedathisloftyforehead,stillandpaleasawhitestohisfinelisfixedinstudy—Iprehendedallatohewouldhardlymakeagoodhusband:thatitwouldbeatryingthingtobehiswife.Iuood,asbyinspiratioureofhisloveforMissOliver;Iagreedwithhimthatitwasbutaloveofthesenses.Iprehendedhowheshoulddespisehimselfforthefeverishinflueexercisedoverhim;howheshouldwishtostiflearoyit;howheshouldmistrustitseverdugpermalytohishappinesso