"Poof!" he cried, when the latter strove to remonstrate, "you have plenty of money; and these rascals can wait if it suits your pleasure. Father’s memory! Oh, be hanged to all such mawkish sentiment! You need not think less of your father because you wear a blue coat in lieu of a black! Rabbit me! but you are of a different world from this if you keep alive your father’s memory for six months after his decease! No, no; you must cut a figure. Sir Hugh’s name is clean forgot by now. I’ll eat my boots if ’tis not so. I’ll have you as gay as my fancy paints you. No black—no sables for the gentleman, I tell you. Let us see those other patterns. Ah! here is something more like." Grey submitted. In sooth, he cared but little for the colour of his clothes, or the set of his hat, or the cut of his coat. He let Lord Sandford have his way for the most part, only insisting here and there upon soft and tender tints, and showing a predilection for white, which his friend quite approved. "You shall be a foil to me, not a rival. I have learned that art from the ladies. I like to blaze like old Sol in his strength; you shall rather recall gentle Luna amid her galaxy of stars. Faugh! One’s tongue gets into this silly trick of speech, so that one cannot drop it even betwixt man and man! But you are right to think that white becomes you well. You will look a pretty fellow, in all conscience, when you have added a peruke to your other adornments." But here Grey stood firm. Nothing would induce him to cumber his head with one of those mountains of hair. In vain the perruquiers displayed their wares; in vain Lord Sandford bantered and laughed, and made out that he would be reckoned as a mad fellow by the young bloods of the city. Grey would not yield an inch. He had always found his own hair sufficient and comfortable, and he would wear it to the end. And as the discomfited perruquier at last departed, Lord Sandford broke into another of his great laughs. "I’ faith you are right, man. I like you the better that you have the courage of your opinions, and care no whit for fashion. You’ll be a match for more than the perruquiers yet. There’s a fighting strain in your blood. I can see it in the glint of your eye. Well, you shall not lack opportunity to fight as well as to laugh here in London town; but we’ll not have cold steel or hot lead again. I’ve seen enough of that cursed duelling to last me for a lifetime."