ature is not prone to strong aversions, and is
slow to admit them even dispassionately; but when it finds ill-will
gaining upon it, and can discern between-whiles that its origin is not
dispassionate, such a nature becomes distressed.

Therefore Mr Henry Gowan would have clouded Clennam's mind, and would
have been far oftener present to it than more agreeable persons and
subjects but for the great prudence of his decision aforesaid. As it
was, Mr Gowan seemed transferred to Daniel Doyce's mind; at all events,
it so happened that it usually fell to Mr Doyce's turn, rather than
to Clennam's, to speak of him in the friendly conversations they held
together. These were of frequent occurrence now; as the two partners
shared a portion of a roomy house in one of the grave old-fashioned City
streets, lying not far from the Bank of England, by London Wall.

Mr Doyce had been to Twickenham to pass the day. Clennam had excused
himself. Mr Doyce was just come home. He put in his head at the door of
Clennam's sitting-room to say Good night.

'Come in, come in!' said Clennam.

'I saw you were reading,' returned Doyce, as he entered, 'and thought
you might not care to be disturbed.'

But for the notable resolution he had made, Clennam really might not
have known what he had been reading; really might not have had his eyes
upon the book for an hour past, though it lay open before him. He shut
it up, rather quickly.

'Are they well?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Doyce; 'they are well. They are all well.'

Daniel had an old workmanlike habit of carrying his pocket-handkerchief
in his hat. He took it out and wiped his forehead with it, slowly
repeating, 'They are all well. Miss Minnie looking particularly well, I
thought.'

'Any company at the cottage?'

'No, no company.' 'And how did you get on, you four?' asked Clennam
gaily.

'There were five of us,' returned his partner. 'There was
What's-his-name. He was there.' 'Who is he?' said Clennam.

'Mr Henry Gowan.'

'Ah, to be sure!' cried Clennam with unusual vivacity, 'Yes!--I forgot
him.'

'As I mentioned, you may remember,' said Daniel Doyce, 'he is always
there on Sunday.'

'Yes, yes,' returned Clennam; 'I remember now.'

Daniel Doyce, still wiping his forehead, ploddingly repeated. 'Yes. He
was there, he was there. Oh yes, he was there. And his dog. He was there
too.'

'Miss Meagles is quite attached to--the--dog,' observed Clennam.

'Quite so,' assented his partner.