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” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. 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. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp.
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