"Then, I'll order a costume for you and have it sent round. There's no need for you to be anything historical; you might be a butcher."
"Quite—blue is my colour. In fact, I can do you the best end of the neck at tenpence, madam, if you'll wait a moment while I sharpen the knife. Let's see; you like it cut on the cross, I think? Bother, they've forgotten the strop."
"Well, it may not be a butcher," said Elizabeth; "it depends what they've got."
* * * * * * *
That was a week ago. This morning I was really ill at last; had hardly any breakfast; simply couldn't look a poached egg in the yolk. A day on the sofa in a darkened room and bed at seven o'clock was my programme. And then my eye caught a great box of clothes, and I remembered that the dance was to-night. I opened the box. Perhaps dressed soberly as a black-haired butcher I could look in for an hour or two ... and——
Help!
A yellow waistcoat, pink breeches, and—no, it's not an eider-down, it's a coat.
A yellow—— Pink br——
I am going as Joseph.
I am going as Swan & Edgar.