We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. That, I think, is manifest.
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