Here, his lean, shadowed face all
anxiety, Rollo stood, holding at arm's length a parti-coloured robe
with floating scarfs.
"It seems to me, sir," he said doubtfully, "that this one would 'ave
done better. Beggin' your pardon, sir."
St. George shook his head distastefully.
"It doesn't matter," he said, and broke into a slow smile as he
looked at Amory. The robes which the prince had provided for the
evening were rather harder to become accustomed to than the notion
of intuitive knowledge.
"There's an air about this one though, sir," opined Rollo firmly,
"there's a cut--a sort of _way_ with the seams, so to speak, sir,
that the other can't touch. And cut is what counts, sir, cut counts
every time."
"Ah, yes, I dare say, Rollo," said St. George, "and as a judge of
'cut' I don't say you can be equaled. But I do say that in the
styles of Deuteronomy you aren't necessarily what you might call
up."
"Yes, sir," said Rollo, dropping his eyes, "but a well-dressed man
was a well-dressed man, sir, then _as_ now.
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