“I hear your opinion on it,” retorted Sedgwick, a bit nettled. “Am I to infer that you have been waiting for me?”
“You wouldn’t go far wrong.”
“And what can I do for you—before you leave?” said Sedgwick significantly.
“Take a little walk with me presently,” said the man in another voice, brushing the hat clear of his face.
“Kent!” exclaimed the artist.
“Well, you appear surprised. What kind of artist are you, not to recognize a man simply because he shaves his beard and affects a false voice?”
“But you’re so completely changed. And why this disguise?”
“Disguise?” returned the other, astonished in his turn. “I’m not in disguise.”
“Your clothes. They’re—well, except for being offensive, I’d call them foppish.”
“Not at all!” protested the other warmly. “Just because I’m a scientific man, is it to be assumed that I ought to be a frump? I’m fond of good clothes; I can afford good clothes; I wear good clothes. It’s a hobby of mine; but I deny that it is a weakness.”