“I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Your life is like a funeral March. Bach?” They unanimously said yes. " "While I look as if I had stepped out of the family album?" He frowned perplexedly. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose.
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