He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. 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. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds.
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