“Really,” he said at last, “if you are very desirous of presenting me to your friends, of course I—­”

“Oh, only if it is agreeable to you, of course.  If it it is in any way the reverse—­” protested the polite Mr. Barker.

“Not that—­not exactly disagreeable.  Only it is some time since I have enjoyed the advantage of an hour’s conversation with ladies; and besides, since it comes to that, I am here as a pedestrian, and I do not present a very civilised appearance.”

“Don’t let that disturb you.  Since you consent,” went on Mr. Barker, briskly taking everything for granted, “I may tell you that the lady in question has expressed a wish to have you presented, and that I could not do less than promise to bring you if possible.  As for your personal appearance, it is not of the least consequence.  Perhaps, if you don’t mind a great deal, you might have your hair cut.  Don’t be offended, Professor, but nothing produces an appearance of being dressed so infallibly as a neatly-trimmed head.”

“Oh, certainly, if you think it best, I will have my hair cut.  It will soon grow again.”

Mr. Barker smiled under the lambrikin of his moustache.  “Yes,” thought he, “but it sha’n’t.”

“Then,” he said aloud, “we will go about eleven.”

Claudius sat wondering who the lady could be who wanted to have him presented.  But he was afraid to ask; Barker would immediately suppose he imagined it to be the dark lady.  However, his thoughts took it as a certainty that it must be she, and went on building castles in the air and conversations in the clouds.  Barker watched him and probably guessed what he was thinking of; but he did not want to spoil the surprise he had arranged, and fearing lest Claudius might ask some awkward question, he went to bed, leaving the Doctor to his cogitations.

In the morning he lay in wait for his friend, who had gone off for an early walk in the woods.  He expected that a renewal of the attack would be necessary before the sacrifice of the yellow locks could be accomplished, and he stood on the steps of the hotel, clad in the most exquisite of grays, tapering down to the most brilliant of boots.  He had a white rose in his buttonhole, and his great black dog was lying at his feet, having for a wonder found his master, for the beast was given to roaming, or to the plebeian society of Barker’s servant.  The American’s careful attire contrasted rather oddly with his sallow face, and with the bony hand that rested against the column.  He was a young man, but he looked any age that morning.  Before long his eye twinkled and he changed his position expectantly, for he saw the tall figure of Claudius striding up the street, a head and shoulders above the strolling crowd; and, wonderful to relate, the hair was gone, the long beard was carefully clipped and trimmed, and the Doctor wore a new gray hat!

“If he will black his boots and put a rose in his coat, he will do.  What a tearing swell he will be when he is dressed,” thought Mr. Barker, as he looked at his friend.