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. “Limp,” he answered. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable.
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