His mother did not see her thirtieth year; his father died at little over forty; his grandparents were not long-lived; what chance had he of walking the earth for more than half the term already behind him?
Did the life of every man speed by so mockingly?
Yesterday a school-boy; tomorrow--'Rolfe?
you don't say so?
Poor old fellow!' And he was going to be married.

Incredible, laughter-moving, but a fact.

No more the result of deliberate purpose than any other change that had come about in his life, than the flight of years and the vanishment of youth.

Fate so willed it, and here he stood.
Someone climbed the stairs, breaking upon his reverie.

It was Buncombe, who smiled through a settled gloom.
'All done?
I shan't be much longer here myself.