"Oh?" said Barnabas.
"I mean that the clothes he makes are all stamped with his individuality, as it were,—their very excellence damns them. They are the clothes of a tailor instead of being simply a gentleman's garments."
"Hum!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown at this, "it would seem that dress can be a very profound subject, Peterby."
"Sir," answered Peterby, shaking his head, "it is a life study, and, so far as I know, there are only two people in the world who understand it aright; Beau Brummell was one, and, because he was the Beau, had London and the World of Fashion at his feet."
"And who was the other?"
Peterby took himself by the chin, and, though his mouth was solemn, the twinkle was back in his eye as he glanced at Barnabas.
"The other, sir," he answered, "was one who, until yesterday, was reduced to the necessity of living upon poached rabbits."
Here Barnabas stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling.
"I remember you told me you were the best valet in the world," said he.
"It is my earnest desire to prove it, sir."