Excerpt from Second Thoughts There is no truer proverb than the one that tells us that 'A watched pot never boils;' and yet, though they have all been watching, with their eyes upon the dial-plate, for the clock to strike midnight, it has struck at last. Instantly there is a rising, a rustling, a cheerful moving. Through the door of communication they pass - men, women, and children - from the sleepy, warm arm-chairs of the drawing-room into the chill semi-obscurity of the unfurnished, echoing gallery, which for the last twenty years has served for the romp-place, dance-place, wet-day-place, litter-place, of the Marlowe family. Along the floor, upon the bare boards, each parted from the other by an interval of about a yard, stand twelve bedroom candles, which a stooping footman is in the act of lighting.