It was too bad that he had been
foolish enough to discard his becoming costume of the morning for a
conventional suit of clothes, which, it was painfully certain, he must
have bought ready-made. The things did not fit too well, though they had
probably cost a good deal, and they were astonishingly like advertisements
of men's clothes which Angela had seen in American magazines on shipboard.
They did their best to give him his money's worth, by spoiling his
splendid looks and turning him into something different from what nature
had intended. His broad shoulders were increased in size by the padded
cutaway coat, until they seemed out of proportion. His collar was an inch
too high, and he was evidently wretched in it. Also he had the look in his
eyes of a man whose boots are so tight that he wishes to die. His fancy
waistcoat and maroon necktie must have been forced upon him by a ruthless
salesman who would stop at no crime in the way of trade, and the
consciousness of these atrocities and the largeness of his scarf-pin had
reduced the poor fellow to the depths of gloom. In one hand he held a pair
of yellowish kid gloves which hung limp and feeble, like the dead bodies
of small animals, and on the floor near his feet, as if drawing attention
to the brilliance of his patent-leather shoes, was the latest extravagance
in silk hats.
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