But to the Duchess the change in Joe Ellison was astounding.

She had last seen him in his middle thirties: black-haired, handsome, careful of dress, powerful of physique, dominant, fiery-tempered, fearless of any living thing, but with these hot qualities checked into a surface appearance of unruffled equanimity by his self-control and his habitual reticence.

And now to see him thin, white-haired, bent, his old fire seemingly burned to gray ashes--the Duchess, who had seen much in her generations, was almost appalled at the transformation.
At first the Duchess skillfully guided the talk among commonplaces.
"Larry tells me you're out with him." "Yes," said Joe.

"Larry's been a mighty good pal." "What're you going to do when you get back your strength ?" "The same as I'm doing now--if they'll let me." And after a pause: "Perhaps later, if I had the necessary capital, I'd like to start a little nursery.

Or else grow flowers for the market." "Not going back to the old thing, then ?" Joe shook his white head.