“Anyhow, I appreciate that hat,” was the reply, with a dry chuckle.
“Mr. Griggs,” Fannie announced. There was a smile on the face of the maid, which was explained a minute later when, in accordance with her mistress's order, the visitor was shown into the drawing-room, for his presence was of an elegance so extraordinary as to attract attention anywhere—and mirth as well from ribald observers.
Meantime, Garson had explained to Mary.
“It's English Eddie—you met him once. I wonder what he wants? Probably got a trick for me. We often used to work together.”
“Nothing without my consent,” Mary warned.
“Oh, no, no, sure not!” Garson agreed.
Further discussion was cut short by the appearance of English Eddie himself, a tall, handsome man in the early thirties, who paused just within the doorway, and delivered to Mary a bow that was the perfection of elegance. Mary made no effort to restrain the smile caused by the costume of Mr. Griggs. Yet, there was no violation of the canons of good taste, except in the aggregate. From spats to hat, from walking coat to gloves, everything was perfect of its kind. Only, there was an over-elaboration, so that the ensemble was flamboyant. And the man's manners precisely harmonized with his clothes, whereby the whole effect was emphasized and rendered bizarre. Garson took one amazed look, and then rocked with laughter.
Griggs regarded his former associate reproachfully for a moment, and then grinned in frank sympathy.
“Really, Mr. Griggs, you quite overcome me,” Mary said, half-apologetically.
The visitor cast a self-satisfied glance over his garb.