When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. She positioned it over her arm, placing the firing end in Rhea’s mouth. 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. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. ‘Imbecile.
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