"Aren't you going to dress up?" asked Juliet, indignantly shaking at
him a horned and towering blue headdress of the fourteenth century
which framed her face very becomingly, fantastic as it was.
"Everybody here has to be in the Middle Ages. Even Mr. Brain has put
on a sort of brown dressing gown and says he's a monk; and Mr.
Fisher got hold of some old potato sacks in the kitchen and sewed
them together; he's supposed to be a monk, too. As to the prince,
he's perfectly glorious, in great crimson robes as a cardinal. He
looks as if he could poison everybody. You simply must be
something."
"I will be something later in the day," he replied. "At present I am
nothing but an antiquary and an attorney. I have to see your brother
presently, about some legal business and also some local
investigations he asked me to make. I must look a little like a
steward when I give an account of my stewardship."
"Oh, but my brother has dressed up!" cried the girl. "Very much so.
No end, if I may say so. Why he's bearing down on you now in all his
glory."
The noble lord was indeed marching toward them in a magnificent
sixteenth-century costume of purple and gold, with a gold-hilted
sword and a plumed cap, and manners to match. Indeed, there was
something more than his usual expansiveness of bodily action in his
appearance at that moment.
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