As he smoked, his lips wore a quizzical smile, for he was honest enough to give Joanne Gray credit for her triumph.
She had awakened a new kind of interest in him--only a passing interest, to be sure--but a new kind for all that.

The fact amused him.

In a large way he was a humourist--few guessing it, and he fully appreciated the humour of the present situation--that he, John Aldous, touted the world over as a woman-hater, wanted to peer out through the poplar foliage and see that wonderful gold-brown head shining in the sun once more! He wandered more slowly on his way, wondering with fresh interest what his friends, the women, would say when they read his new book.

His title for it was "Mothers." It was to be a tremendous surprise.
Suddenly his face became serious.

He faced the sound of a distant phonograph.