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. Perhaps I'd better open it now. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. He never seemed to take full advantage while they were in his mammoth automobile. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. “I came to London,” said Ann Veronica, “rather because of my own difficulty.
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