CHAPTER XII
THE VISCOUNT DISCOURSES ON SARTORIAL ART
Viscount Merivale sighed ecstatic.
"Beautiful!" he murmured. "O beautiful, nunky! Here we have perfection of fit, excellence of style, harmony of colour and graciousness of line!"
"Colour," reflected the Major, "is't not a little fevered, Tom, a little—hectic as 'twere?"
"Hectic—O impiety! You are a sentient rhapsody, a breathing poem, sir, blister me!"
The Major regarded his reflection in the mirror dubious and askance; his plum-coloured, gold-braided coat, his gorgeous embroidered waistcoat, his clocked stockings and elegant French shoes; his critical glance roved from flowing new periwig to flashing diamond shoe-buckles and he blinked.
"I find myself something too dazzling, Tom!"
"Entirely à la mode, sir, let me perish!"
"A little too—exotic, Tom!"