” She shook her head. 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. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. .
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