She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. 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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