Lord Mowbray barred his further progress.
"I am not jesting, Mr. Fisher. I can be serious when serious matters are at stake, and there is nothing more serious than the health of an honest man like yourself. I tell you that you have a high fever and that you are going straight to bed, where you will keep warm and let Mrs. Fisher bring you a ptisan."
"But I have no fever, and even if I had I should not fail to perform my duty. And this, a first-night! Why, the king and queen are to honor the performance with their presence!"
"Well, let us cut the matter short, Mr. Fisher. Here is somewhat to sweeten your ptisan."
With the words a handful of guineas changed hands, the jingle of which possessed a persuasive virtue all their own; whereupon the hairdresser began to comprehend that it is sometimes to one's advantage to be feverish.
"But, my lord," he faltered, "would you have Miss Woodville go on the stage with dishevelled hair? Who will take my place?"
"I will, Fisher."
"Can your lordship dress a head of hair?"
"I studied the art in Paris under the celebrated Leonard."
"Is it so!"