He closed and locked his desk, stood looking at it blankly for a moment; then he squared his shoulders.

An envelope lay open on the desk beside him.
"Oh--yes," he said aloud, but scarcely heard his own voice.
The envelope enclosed an invitation from one, Camilla Lent, to a theatre party for that evening, and a dance afterward.
He had a vague idea that he had accepted.
The play was "The Seven Sisters" at Laura, Keene's Theatre.

The dance was somewhere--probably at Delmonico's.

If he were going, it was time he was afoot.
His eyes wandered from one familiar object to another; he moved restlessly, and began to roam through the richly furnished rooms.
But to Berkley nothing in the world seemed familiar any longer; and the strangeness of it, and the solitude were stupefying him.
When he became tired trying to think, he made the tour again in a stupid sort of way, then rang for his servant, Burgess, and started mechanically about his dressing.
Nothing any longer seemed real, not even pain.
He rang for Burgess again, but the fellow did not appear.

So he dressed without aid.