I tell you, Henry, if a man hasn't set the river on fire, realized his youthful dreams, and all that, it is something to have found out something that nobody else has, no matter how little it is, if you have got nerve enough to keep it to yourself." Henry fairly laughed.

His long, hollow cheeks were slightly flushed.
When he got home that night he looked pleasantly at Sylvia, preparing supper.

But Sylvia did not look as radiant as she had done since her good-fortune.

She said nothing ailed her, in response to his inquiry as to whether she felt well or not, but she continued gloomy and taciturn, which was most unusual with her, especially of late.
"What in the world is the matter with you, Sylvia ?" Henry asked.

The influence of Sidney Meeks's wine had not yet departed from him.