She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. The business of serving gave Gerald a few moment’s grace, for he was dubious about the effect on an elderly female, not in the best of health, of raking up old memories. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. His mouth was sensuous but his eyes became frenetic. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically.
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