The bewildering tinsel of the stage no longer diverted, and he would have been astonished to analyze the reason why.
As the last curtain fell and Dennis was no longer able to adjust his gloomy contemplation to incongruous orchestration, he hastened from the theater, scrambled down the precipitate stairs and hastened to The Stag.
It was midnight before he slept, and scarcely morning when he awoke.
He dressed himself like an automaton, and breakfasted like an anchorite.
He left the hotel without his personal knowledge, and traversed half the length of Broadway without volition. His mind was making the visit in advance of the appointed time, and his torpid body alone observed the social usages.
By noon the patent leathers were a reality; by six-thirty he had assumed a clean shirt and his new necktie.
When the clock struck seven he hastened to the elevated; a half hour later found him parading the street opposite the conservatory, and at eight he arrived with a promptness which, persistently observed, commends a young man to a junior partnership.
When the widow finally presented herself, Dennis was more than ever convinced, by the richness of her attire, that the business must be in a flourishing condition.
For some unknown reason the beautiful woman was dressed entirely in black with the exception of some exquisite traceries in white about her throat and wrists.
Had his life depended upon it Dennis could never have described the fabric of her gown.