"And when the book is published and Adrian's memory flattered and Doria is assured of her mental and moral balance--what then ?" "I hope she'll be happy," he answered.

"Why the blazes do you suppose I've worried if it wasn't to give her happiness ?" I could not press my point.

I could not commit the gross indelicacy of saying: "My poor friend, where do you come in ?" or words to that effect.
Nor could I possibly lay down the proposition that a living second husband--stretching the imagination to the hypothesis of her taking one--is but an indifferent hero to the widow who spends her life in burning incense before the shrine of the demigod husband who is dead.

We can't say these things to our friends.

We expect them to have common sense as we have ourselves.