"And a good tailor as well--don"t forget that," I added, running an appraising eye over his form. "I must get his address for Henry. Yes, it was brave of you. What made you do it, William?"
He avoided my eye and looked embarra.s.sed. "I had an object, of course.
Didn"t I explain the other evening----"
"I remember. You did say something about a man not getting into a groove." I smiled, feeling slightly self-conscious for a moment. "And how do you feel now you"re entirely metamorphosed?"
"Entirely metamorphosed, am I?" he said rather bitterly, "Just on account of a change of raiment. Yet Dr. Johnson said, "Fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring respect.""
"Oh, I always respected you, William," I put in hastily, "And don"t quote Dr. Johnson now. It doesn"t go with your tie."
He groaned. "Must I change my expressions, my thoughts, my very mode of living to match the garments I wear?"
"I"m afraid you must. But tell me," I added, looking earnestly into his face, "doesn"t this outward change affect you inwardly as well--just a little? You _must_ be feeling more--what shall I say--sprightly than before?"
He looked down at me as if puzzled, and then said in a half shame-faced way, "Mrs. Warrington, there is some truth in that remark of yours.
Some subtle, inexplicable change that I cannot account for has come over me. Even as Samson"s strength lay in his hair, do you think my reason lay in my beard?"
"It depends on the quality of the reason. Describe your present symptoms to me, William."
He avoided my gaze. "It is quite impossible to a.n.a.lyse them, I a.s.sure you."
"Let me help. Look at me steadily," I said impressively. "Now try, as far as possible, to describe me."
There was a pause. "I"m afraid you"ll be offended, Madame," he began.
"No, I won"t. Go on," I commanded.
"Well, as a matter of fact, although I have known you for over nine years, it has never before occurred to me to notice that you are an--an--exceedingly pretty woman--but I am offending you?"
"Not in the least, William. Go on."
"Before, I merely remarked you as Henry"s wife--that was all. Why should I so suddenly observe your facial aspect? As Dr. Johnson once said----"
"Cut out Dr. Johnson, and go on with that bit about the facial aspect,"
I put in gently.
"It must, of course, be self-consciousness arising out of my unusual adornment," he went on, "but despite myself I am compelled to notice your attractive qualities. I must, however, overcome this deplorable tendency--combat it----"
"I shouldn"t combat it too strongly at first," I suggested. "It"s always better to do things by degrees. What a nice mouth you have, William."
"So have you," he said, pondering on the discovery.
I blushed. William suddenly started back and smote his brow with his hand. "Isn"t Henry coming in? Where is he?" he demanded wildly.
"Are you so anxious to see Henry at the moment?"
"I am. Mrs. Warrington, I am ashamed to admit the preposterous idea that came into my mind just now. You and Henry would never forgive me--never countenance me again--it was intolerable, incredible----" He paused and wiped his brow. "Why doesn"t Henry come in?"
"What was the preposterous idea?" I asked, wondering.
"Well, you"ll hardly believe it--scarcely realize what you"ve escaped . . . just now, had you been a foot closer to me I believe--I believe, Mrs. Warrington, I should have kissed you!"
I moved a step nearer to him. "William, I should never have forgiven you if you had," I said, raising my face to his so that he could see how intensely earnest I was.
The door opened, and Henry and Marion came in together.
"Netta!" exclaimed Marion, "how could you!"
"My dear," remarked Henry, "I am surprised. How is it I come in and find a man kissing you?"
"I don"t know, Henry," I replied meekly, "unless it"s because that door opens so quietly!"
CHAPTER XV
An exclamation from William made us all turn and look at him.
"I must have been mad," he groaned, sinking into a chair and covering his face with his hands.
"That"s what I thought myself just now when I caught sight of your waistcoat," said Henry, staring at him. "What is the meaning of all this--why the flawless trousers, the immaculate morning coat?"
"I--I--put on a morning coat because you said I wasn"t to get into evening dress," he replied. "I know it isn"t the correct thing for dinner, but you"ve only yourself to blame."
Henry continued to stare at him. "I was quite right. Your brain is unhinged, William. When I last saw you, you appeared fairly normal--and now I come in and discover you arrayed like the lilies of the field and kissing my wife."
William gave a cry like a wounded animal. "Your indictment is only too true. Henry, it is terrible. I can never even hope for your forgiveness for such a heinous offence. The only reparation I can make is to go forth from your house, shake from my feet the dust of your hospitable roof----"
"That metaphor"s wrong, William," I interposed.
"--and pa.s.s out of your lives for ever."
"What on earth are you talking about, old chap?" inquired Henry.
"Have I not betrayed the trust you always reposed in me?"
"I wouldn"t put it as strong as that," replied Henry, eyeing him up and down, "though you certainly have made a bit of a guy of yourself. Who created those trousers?"
"I--I--was not referring to my change of apparel, Henry, but to that most unfortunate aberration on my part, when I was impelled by some strange uncontrollable impulse to bestow a l.a.b.i.al salute on your wife.
Heaven only knows that I----"
"As for that, I expect she egged you on," calmly rejoined that horrid Henry. "I know her. You did flirt with him, didn"t you, Netta?"
Before I could reply William sprang to his feet and placed himself before me. "Stop, Henry!" he exclaimed, "You have no right to suggest such a thing. If I took a gentle unsuspecting woman unawares, then I am willing to stand by the consequences of my rash act. Never for one moment, I can a.s.sure you, did such a thought enter Mrs. Warrington"s head. She was wholly unprepared----"
"I"m not so sure of that," put in Marion, with a sniff.
I began to feel somewhat of a martyr. "Yes, it _was_ rather a surprise," I remarked.