On the following morning it was obvious that Denis had made a supreme effort. It was an effect in white flannels with a superb foulard tie of navy blue and wonderful white buckskin shoes. He reached the breakfast-table at Brineweald Park unusually early, so eager was he to discover what further sartorial devilry Lord Henry would be guilty of, and he was not a little disappointed to find only Guy Tyrrell down.
"Hullo Malster!" cried Guy, looking up from a partly consumed dish of pork chop. "What the hell's up,—are you going to be married?"
"Don't be an ass!" Denis replied, helping himself to devilled kidneys.
"You're looking a howling swell this morning," continued the junior secretary.
"Oh, you mean my rig-out?" Denis enquired with a feeble pretence at not having understood the meaning of Guy's remarks. "That's nothing. As a matter of fact I hadn't tried these on since they were made, and I was wondering what they were like."
"Oh, tell us what you think of Lord Henry!" Guy pursued after a while.
"What do you?" Denis retorted, endeavouring to show indifference.
"He's rather wonderful," Guy exclaimed.
"What do you mean—wonderful?" the other demanded with an unmistakable sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Well, you know, smart in every sense of the word, brains and everything."