The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. Then a light seemed to break in upon him. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead.
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