“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. ‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. Is it an old ring?” he asked, returning it. While I am talking about your friends, I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it. 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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