V. C by David Christie Murray

In the pale spring sunlight where they sat, there came a wholly incongruous figure. It was clad in black broadcloth, and black kid gloves, and there was a black shining silk hat on the top of it; and in one of the black kid gloved hands was balanced a black silk umbrella. The figure was that of John Jervase, and he was walking amidst the tombs of Scutari with about as much visible emotion as he would have shown if he had been on his daily walk to the Stock Exchange in Stevenson Place, Birmingham.

'They told me at the hospital as you'd got leave for a bit of a walk, Polly, and one of the chaps said it was likely I should find you here. You're better, ain't you? There's a little bit of colour in your face this morning.'