You, my son, are particularly flighty and fickle.
Just now you happen to be raving about Peggy, but every pretty face, I've noticed, makes you forget the one before." And Garry, who had been trying to marry Peggy for a year and was by no means as uncertain and mercurial in his affections as Kenny would have him believe, stared with eyes intelligent and reminiscent.
"Well," he said softly, "I'll be jiggered.

That's the limit!" "Be jiggered!" Kenny told him shortly.

"And have done with it." Garry raised his eyebrows and departed.

And Kenny, reverting to one of his old frantic minutes, walked the floor.

He had accepted portrait commissions that would keep him busy for months; for the ragged money he had hidden in the fireplace had made his need of work imperative.
Otherwise he himself could have painted Joan in the gold brocade and in all the others.
What had the money in the fireplace done for him?
It had doomed him to work apart while other men painted the golden shadows in her hair..