His magnificent hunger
rendered him still happier. And the reflection that Brindley owed him
half-a-crown put a top on his bliss!
"I like your dressing-gown, Mr. Machin," said Carlo Trent, suddenly,
after his first spoonful of soup.
"Then I needn't apologize for it!" Edward Henry replied.
"It is the dressing-gown of my dreams," Carlo Trent went on.
"Well," said Edward Henry, "as we're on the subject, I like your
shirt-front."
Carlo Trent was wearing a soft shirt. The other three shirts were
all rigidly starched. Hitherto Edward Henry had imagined that a
fashionable evening shirt should be, before aught else, bullet-proof.
He now appreciated the distinction of a frilled and gently flowing
breast-plate, especially when a broad purple eyeglass ribbon wandered
across it. Rose Euclid gazed in modest transport at Carlo's chest.
"The colour," Carlo proceeded, ignoring Edward Henry's compliment,
"the colour is inspiring. So is the texture. I have a woman's delight
in textures. I could certainly produce better hexameters in such a
dressing-gown."
Although Edward Henry, owing to an unfortunate hiatus in his
education, did not know what a hexameter might be, he was artist
enough to comprehend the effect of attire on creative work, for he had
noticed that he himself could make more money in one necktie than
in another, and he would instinctively take particular care in the
morning choice of a cravat on days when he meditated a great coup.
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