He was ready on the instant, though, as Sir Grantley entered, showed him into his private room, and upon the baronet stating his case, to wit, his uneasiness about his hair, which he said was getting thin on the crown, gave the most earnest attention to the subject.
“I shouldn’t mind so much,” said Sir Grantley; “but I’m—er—going to be mar’d shortly, and I want to look my best.”
Monsieur Hector took a magnifying glass from a drawer, and gravely inspected the crown before him, ending by assuring the baronet that by the use of certain washes prepared by himself from peculiar and unique receipts he could restore the hairs that made him slightly thin upon the crown.
Sir Grantley, in full faith, resigned himself to the coiffeur’s hands, and was sponged and rubbed and scented during a space of about an hour, when he rose and paid a liberal fee, which made Monsieur Hector smile and bow.
Then he turned to go, but stopped short at the door and came back.
“Oh, Monsieur Launay, I’m told that you are a great friend of Mademoiselle Justine, Lady Barmouth’s maid.”
“I have that honour, monsieur,” said the hairdresser, bowing low.
“Ah, yes,” said Sir Grantley, hesitating. “By the way, I am Sir Grantley Wilters.”
“I have heard mademoiselle mention Sir Vilter,” said the hairdresser, bowing.
“Yes, of course,” said the baronet. “Look here, don’t you know, I’m engaged to Lady Maude Diphoos, and I want to save her from pain. No spying—moucharder—but I should be glad to hear of anything that you think might interest me. Mademoiselle Justine will tell you better what I mean. Good-day.”