‘But you do not understand, mon ami. He did not even care for his own inheritance at this place in Wodeham Water. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea.
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