‘Good evening,’ said the deep voice of William behind me.

‘Good evening,’ I said casually, turning round and holding out my hand.  Then I started back, my hand falling limply to my side.  It was William who stood before me, because I recognized his voice—­but that was all I recognized at the moment.  Not a shred of his former self seemed to have remained.

I think I have, from time to time, represented William as shabby, bulky, shapeless, hairy, and altogether impossible as far as appearance goes.  Can any words depict my astonishment at seeing him so suddenly transformed, glorified, redeemed and clean-shaven?  His figure, which once appeared so stodgy, now looked merely strong and athletic encased in a well-fitting morning coat, a waistcoat of a discreet shade of smoke grey, with a hint of starched pique slip at the opening.  His irreproachable trousers were correctly creased—­not too marked to be ostentatious, but just a graceful fold emerging, as it were, out of the texture, even as the faint line of dawn strikes across the darkened sky.

But it was his head that attracted me most.  There was no denying it—­shorn of his overgrowth of whiskers and put into a correct setting, William was handsome; even more than that, he was interesting.  He had that firm, chiselled kind of mouth which women and artists find so attractive, and a delightful cleft in his chin; his hair, which had hitherto always struck me as being so unkempt and disordered, now that it was brushed smoothly back from his brow and curled into the nape of his neck gave him a distinguished appearance.  I directed one long look at him and then instinctively dived to the mirror.

‘Oh, William,’ I gasped, ‘is it possible?’

‘Is what possible?’ he inquired.

‘Why just think of it,’ I replied, groping in my pocket for my powder puff. ‘You’re a man!’

‘What else should I be?’ he asked, apparently mystified.

‘You used to be—­just William.  But now,’ I sidled up to him, ’you’ve changed amazingly.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ he growled with some of his former gruffness of manner.  ’Can you imagine what a tremendous amount of determination and will power I required to get myself up like this?’

‘And a good tailor as well—­don’t forget that,’ I added, running an appraising eye over his form.  ’I must get his address for Henry.  Yes, it was brave of you.  What made you do it, William?’

He avoided my eye and looked embarrassed.  ’I had an object, of course.  Didn’t I explain the other evening——­’

’I remember.  You did say something about a man not getting into a groove.’  I smiled, feeling slightly self-conscious for a moment.  ’And how do you feel now you’re entirely metamorphosed?’

‘Entirely metamorphosed, am I?’ he said rather bitterly, ’Just on account of a change of raiment.  Yet Dr. Johnson said, “Fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring respect."’