“It sets well; I like the long tails,” said Lord Frederick. “Who made it, Duke? Nugee?”
“Turn round,” said Mr. Brummell.
The Duke pivoted obediently, and stood craning his head over his shoulder to see what effect this aspect of the garment produced on the Beau. Mr. Brummell examined him from head to foot, and walked slowly round him. He studied the length of the tails, and pursed his lips; he observed the cut across the shoulders, and raised his brows. Lastly, he took one of the lapels between his finger and thumb, and carefully felt it. “Bedford,” he said earnestly, “ do you call this thing a coat?”
The Duke, with a ludicrous expression, half of dismay, half of amusement, on his face, interrupted the laughter of the circle. “No, really, George, that’s too bad of you! Upon my word, I have a good mind to call you out for it!”
“You may call me, Bedford, but there it will end, I warn you,” replied Brummell. “I haven’t the least intention of putting a period to my existence in such a hideous way as that.”
“Did you ever fight a duel, Brummell?” inquired Mr. Montagu, astride a cabriole chair.
“Thank God, no!” said the Beau, with a shudder. “But I once had an affair at Chalk Farm, and a dreadful state I was in: never in my life shall I forget the horrors of the previous night!”
“Any sleep, George?” asked Worth, smiling.
“None, not a wink. It was out of the question. Dawn was to me the harbinger of Death, and yet I almost hailed it with pleasure. But my second’s step on the stair soon spoiled that feeling, for what must he do but carefully explain all the horrid details to me, thus annihilating the little—the very little—courage that had survived the anxieties of the night! We left the house, and no accident, no fortunate upset occurred on our way to the rendezvous, where we arrived, according to my idea, much too soon, a quarter of an hour before the time named.” He paused, closing his eyes as though overcome by the recollection.
“Go on, George: what happened?” demanded the Duke, highly entertained.