She found this look of Dryfoos's pathetic, and dwelt on the sort of stupefaction there was in it; he must have loved his son more than they ever realized.

"Yes," said March, "I suspect he did.

He's never been about the place since that day; he was always dropping in before, on his way up-town.

He seems to go down to Wall Street every day, just as before, but I suppose that's mechanical; he wouldn't know what else to do; I dare say it's best for him.

The sanguine Fulkerson is getting a little anxious about the future of 'Every Other Week.' Now Conrad's gone, he isn't sure the old man will want to keep on with it, or whether he'll have to look up another Angel.
He wants to get married, I imagine, and he can't venture till this point is settled." "It's a very material point to us too, Basil," said Mrs.March.
"Well, of course.