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The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. 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.
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