He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. To-night all London believes that he was your husband.
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