He went to the pillow, and bent over it, examining the face closely.
"Poor child!" he said again, tenderly.

Then, with sudden reaction, apostrophizing himself instead of his wife, "Poor ass! Poor idiot! Poor jackanapes! Here is the body of a woman who was nearly as old as myself, and perhaps wiser, and here am I moralizing over it as if I were God Almighty and she a baby! The more you remind a man of what he is, the more conceited he becomes.

Monstrous! I shall feel immortal presently." He touched the cheek with a faint attempt at roughness, to feel how cold it was.

Then he touched his own, and remarked: "This is what I am hastening toward at the express speed of sixty minutes an hour!" He stood looking down at the face and tasting this sombre reflection for a long time.

When it palled on him, he roused himself, and exclaimed more cheerfully: "After all, she is not dead.