He had been fighting the battle, and made light of Bella Vista.

I found that incidents over which a day or two had rolled lost their features to him.

He never smiled at recollections.

If they were forced on him noisily by persons he liked, perhaps his face was gay, but only for a moment.

The gaiety of his nature drew itself from hot-springs of hopefulness: our arrival in England, our interviews there, my majority Burgundy, my revisitation of Germany--these events to come gave him the aspect children wear out a-Maying or in an orchard.