But he went away happy, for he saw that Gwendolen was disappointed.
And whither did he go?
He went straight to a slopshop and bought as neat and reasonably well-fitting a suit of clothes as an Englishman could be persuaded to wear.

He said--to himself, but at his conscience--"I know it's wrong; but it would be wrong not to do it; and two wrongs do not make a right." This satisfied him, and made his heart light.

Perhaps it will also satisfy the reader--if he can make out what it means.
The old people were troubled about Gwendolen at dinner, because she was so distraught and silent.

If they had noticed, they would have found that she was sufficiently alert and interested whenever the talk stumbled upon the artist and his work; but they didn't notice, and so the chat would swap around to some other subject, and then somebody would presently be privately worrying about Gwendolen again, and wondering if she were not well, or if something had gone wrong in the millinery line.
Her mother offered her various reputable patent medicines, and tonics with iron and other hardware in them, and her father even proposed to send out for wine, relentless prohibitionist and head of the order in the District of Columbia as he was, but these kindnesses were all declined-- thankfully, but with decision.

At bedtime, when the family were breaking up for the night, she privately looted one of the brushes, saying to herself, "It's the one he has used, the most." The next morning Tracy went forth wearing his new suit, and equipped with a pink in his button-hole--a daily attention from Puss.