A maid-servant, recently emancipated from the Board school, came
at half-past seven each morning, and remained until two o'clock,
by which time the Reardons had dined; on special occasions, her
services were enlisted for later hours. But it was Reardon's
habit to begin the serious work of the day at about three
o'clock, and to continue with brief interruptions until ten or
eleven; in many respects an awkward arrangement, but enforced by
the man's temperament and his poverty.
One evening he sat at his desk with a slip of manuscript paper
before him. It was the hour of sunset. His outlook was upon the
backs of certain large houses skirting Regent's Park, and lights
had begun to show here and there in the windows:in one room a man
was discoverable dressing for dinner, he had not thought it
worth while to lower the blind; in another, some people were
playing billiards. The higher windows reflected a rich glow from
the western sky.
For two or three hours Reardon had been seated in much the same
attitude. Occasionally he dipped his pen into the ink and seemed
about to write: but each time the effort was abortive.
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