"They went away. Seemed, indeed, to run away. Frightened? I, of course, was frightened at things without wings. I hope---- they were not frightened at my wings?" "At your appearance generally," said the Vicar, glancing involuntarily at the pink feet. "Dear me! It never occurred to me. I suppose I seemed as odd to them as you did to me." He glanced down. "And my feet. _You_ have hoofs like a hippogriff." "Boots," corrected the Vicar. "Boots, you call them! But anyhow, I am sorry I alarmed----" "You see," said the Vicar, stroking his chin, "our ladies, _ahem_, have peculiar views--rather inartistic views--about, _ahem_, clothing. Dressed as you are, I am afraid, I am really afraid that--beautiful as your costume certainly is--you will find yourself somewhat, _ahem_, somewhat isolated in society. We have a little proverb, 'When in Rome, _ahem_, one must do as the Romans do.' I can assure you that, assuming you are desirous to, _ahem_, associate with us--during your involuntary stay----" The Angel retreated a step or so as the Vicar came nearer and nearer in his attempt to be diplomatic and confidential. The beautiful face grew perplexed. "I don't quite understand. Why do you keep making these noises in your throat? Is it Die or Eat, or any of those...." "As your host," interrupted the Vicar, and stopped. "As my host," said the Angel. "_Would_ you object, pending more permanent arrangements, to invest yourself, _ahem_, in a suit, an entirely new suit I may say, like this I have on?" "Oh!" said the Angel. He retreated so as to take in the Vicar from top to toe. "Wear clothes like yours!" he said. He was puzzled but amused. His eyes grew round and bright, his mouth puckered at the corners. "Delightful!" he said, clapping his hands together. "What a mad, quaint dream this is! Where are they?" He caught at the neck of the saffron robe. "Indoors!" said the Vicar. "This way. We will change--indoors!" XII. So the Angel was invested in a pair of nether garments of the Vicar's, a shirt, ripped down the back (to accommodate the wings), socks, shoes--the Vicar's dress shoes--collar, tie, and light overcoat. But putting on the latter was painful, and reminded the Vicar that the bandaging was temporary. "I will ring for tea at once, and send Grummet down for Crump," said the Vicar. "And dinner shall be earlier." While the Vicar shouted his orders on the landing rails, the Angel surveyed himself in the cheval glass with immense delight. If he was a stranger to pain, he was evidently no stranger--thanks perhaps to dreaming--to the pleasure of incongruity.