"All the same," Carmen went on, "though I like them, you haven't got much
vanity if you mean to wear those things to travel East, and land in New
York."
"Why, what's the matter with 'em, Mrs. Gaylor?" Nick asked. He spoke
carelessly, in the matter of accent as well as of his feeling about the
clothes. He cut off his words in a slipshod way, as if he had never had
time to think much about the value or beauty of the English language.
Still, though his speech was not that of a cultivated man, it did not
grate on the ear. His voice was singularly pleasant, even sweet, with
something of boyish gaiety in it.
"The things are all right, Nick, and you're all right in them. You needn't
worry," said Carmen. "Only--well, I don't believe there'll be anything
else like them--or like you either--in New York."
Nick looked himself over indifferently. He wore a "soft" white shirt, with
a low collar turned over a black scarf tied anyhow. There was a leather
belt round his waist, which obviated the need of a waistcoat or
suspenders. His short coat and trousers were of navy blue serge.
Everything he had on was neat and of good material, but Carmen smiled when
she thought of this tall, belted figure, hatted with a gray sombrero on
the back of its head, arriving at one of the best hotels in New York.
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