I did not speak, but waited for her to turn, with that ship’s call still sounding in my mind.  The rain had cleared for a winter sunset.  Opposite, in the house which had been turned into a frugal shop, it was thought so near to night that they lit their lamp, though it was not only possible to see the bottles of sweet-stuff and the bundles of wood in the window, but to make out the large print of a bill stuck to a pane announcing a concert at the Wesleyan Mission Room.  The lamp was alight also in the little beer-house next door to it, where the Shipping Gazette could be borrowed, if it were not already out on loan; for children constantly go there for it, with a request from mother, learning their geography that way in Malabar Street, while following a father or a brother round the world and back again, and working out by dead-reckoning whether he would be home for Christmas.

The quiet street, with every house alike, had that air of conscious reserve which is given by the respectable and monotonous; but for a moment then it was bright with the glory of the sky’s afterglow reflected on its wet pavements, as though briefly exalted with an unexpected revelation.  The radiance died.  Night came, and it was as if the twilight native to the street clouded from its walls and brimmed it with gloom, while yet the sky was bright.  The lamplighter set his beacon at the end of the street.

That key had been found.  Mrs. Williams laughed to herself, and then saw me.  “Oh,” she exclaimed.  “I didn’t know you were there.  Did you see that?  That lamplighter!  When Williams was at sea, and I was alone, it was quite hopeful when the lamplighter did that.  It looked like a star.  And that Number Ten is let at last.  Did you see the young people there?  I’m sure they’re newly married.  He’s a sailor.”

With the fire, the humming kettle, and the cat between us, and the table laid for tea, Mrs. Williams speculated with interest and hope about those young strangers.  Did I notice what badge was on his cap?  My eyes were better than hers.  She trusted it would be all right for them.  They were starting very young.  It was better to start young.  She looked such a good little soul, that girl.  It was pleasant to know that house was let at last.  It had been empty too long.  It was getting a name.  People could not help remembering why it was empty.  But young life would make it bright.

“People say things only change, but I like to think they change for the better, don’t you?  But Williams, he will have it they change for the worse.  I don’t know, I’m sure.  He thinks nothing really good except the old days.”  She laughed quietly, bending to tickle the cat’s ear—­“nothing good at all except the old days.  Even the wrecks were more like wrecks.”  She looked at me, smiling.

“As you know,” she said, “there’s many men who follow the sea with homes in this street, but Williams is so proud and strong-willed.  He says he doesn’t want to hear about them.  What do they know about the sea?  You know his way.  What do they know about the sea?  That’s the way he talks, doesn’t he?  But surely the sea is the same for us all.  He won’t have it, though.  Williams is so vain and determined.”