He wondered at himself because of the quickness with which he had recovered from this grief, just as before he had marvelled at the ease with which he had forgotten Ida's death.

Could it be true, then, that nothing affected him very deeply?
Was his nature shallow?
However, he was wrong in this respect; his nature was not shallow.

It had merely become deteriorated.
Two days after his father's death Vandover went into the Old Gentleman's room to get a certain high-backed chair which had been moved there from his own room during the confusion of the funeral, and which, pending the arrival of the trestles, had been used to support the coffin.
As he was carrying it back his eye fell upon a little heap of objects carefully set down upon the bureau.

They were the contents of the Old Gentleman's pockets that the undertaker had removed when the body was dressed for burial.
Vandover turned them over, sadly interested in them.

There was the watch, some old business letters and envelopes covered with memoranda, his fountain-pen, a couple of cigars, a bank-book, a small amount of change, his pen-knife, and one or two tablets of chewing-gum.
Vandover thrust the pen and the knife into his own pocket.