I assisted at his wedding, where it seemed to me he endeavoured to display more ecstasy than it was possible for any human being to feel; and fifteen months later, happening to catch sight of an advertisement in the births column of _The Times_, I called on my way home from the City to congratulate him. He was pacing up and down the passage with his hat on, pausing at intervals to partake of an uninviting-looking meal, consisting of a cold mutton chop and a glass of lemonade, spread out upon a chair. Seeing that the cook and the housemaid were wandering about the house evidently bored for want of something to do, and that the dining- room, where he would have been much more out of the way, was empty and quite in order, I failed at first to understand the reason for his deliberate choice of discomfort. I, however, kept my reflections to myself, and inquired after the mother and child. "Couldn't be better," he replied with a groan. "The doctor said he'd never had a more satisfactory case in all his experience." "Oh, I'm glad to hear that," I answered; "I was afraid you'd been worrying yourself." "Worried!" he exclaimed. "My dear boy, I don't know whether I'm standing on my head or my heels" (he gave one that idea). "This is the first morsel of food that's passed my lips for twenty-four hours." At this moment the nurse appeared at the top of the stairs. He flew towards her, upsetting the lemonade in his excitement. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely. "Is it all right?" The old lady glanced from him to his cold chop, and smiled approvingly. "They're doing splendidly," she answered, patting him on the shoulder in a motherly fashion. "Don't you worry." "I can't help it, Mrs. Jobson," he replied, sitting down upon the bottom stair, and leaning his head against the banisters. "Of course you can't," said Mrs. Jobson admiringly; "and you wouldn't be much of a man if you could." Then it was borne in upon me why he wore his hat, and dined off cold chops in the passage. The following summer they rented a picturesque old house in Berkshire, and invited me down from a Saturday to Monday. Their place was near the river, so I slipped a suit of flannels in my bag, and on the Sunday morning I came down in them. He met me in the garden. He was dressed in a frock coat and a white waistcoat; and I noticed that he kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and that he seemed to have a trouble on his mind. The first breakfast bell rang, and then he said, "You haven't got any proper clothes with you, have you?" "Proper clothes!" I exclaimed, stopping in some alarm. "Why, has anything given way?" "No, not that," he explained. "I mean clothes to go to church in." "Church," I said. "You're surely not going to church a fine day like this? I made sure you'd be playing tennis, or going on the river. You always used to."