"
George thought that what Pauline said--just as he had thought of Mr.
Bradshaw's sermon--seemed to be said for him; and yet what did she
know about him? Nothing. He was silent. All were silent, for it is
difficult to follow anybody who pitches the conversation at so high a
level; and Zachariah, who alone could have maintained it, was
dreaming over his lost Pauline and gazing on the sacred pictures
which were hung in the chamber of his heart. Just at that moment he
was looking at the one of his wife as a girl; the room in which he
was sitting had gone; he was in the court near Fleet Street; she had
cleared the space for the dance; she had begun, and he was watching
her with all the passion of his youth. The conversation gradually
turned to something more indifferent, and the company broke up.
On the Monday George and his father went home. It is very
depressing, after being with people who have been at their best, and
with whom we have been at our best, to descend upon ordinary
existence. George felt it particularly as he stood in the shop on
Tuesday morning and reflected that for the whole of that day--for his
father was out--he should probably not say nor hear a word for which
he cared a single straw.
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