At last Lord Henry was clothed, and, as St. Maur had truthfully prophesied, looked the very paragon of a well-dressed man. Indeed, not only was the contrast with his usual self so bewildering as to banish all sense of proportion in estimating the splendour of his transformation but the singular nobility of his face, with its wise, youthful brow and deep, thoughtful eyes, also added such a curious piquancy to his fashionable attire, that the general effect was little short of startling. It is always so. Dress your scholar, your thinker, your poet, in clothes that Saville Row has carefully designed and carried out for a Society peacock, and the result is not a member of the _phasianidae_, but a golden eagle. It is as if the art of the tailor or shirt maker were grateful for once to adorn something more than a mere dandy. That depth of the eye, that wise and learned mouth, those intelligent and almost understanding hands, the noble studious brow,--all these embellishments added to the figure of the ordinary man, give a certain finish to well-made garments, which these in their turn impart to the aspect of the scholar; and the result is an effect of completeness which is perhaps the highest product of the fashion, as well as the taste, of any Age. Perhaps it is because it is so rarely seen that it is so overwhelmingly attractive. "Are you sure this is right?" Lord Henry demanded, scrutinising his image without a trace of recognition, in the long wardrobe mirror of his room, and lightly fingering a tie that St. Maur had lent him. "Yes!" St. Maur cried in alarm; "for Heaven's sake don't touch it!" On the floor lay the young nobleman's portmanteau, partly filled with St. Maur's shirts, collars, and ties; and in a large suit-case sufficient clothes to provide him with decent variety. St. Maur had drilled him carefully in the combination of socks, shirts, ties, and suits, and had gone so far as to pack certain groups of things together, in special sections, so that at Brineweald no mistake should be made. "You are a marvel, Aubrey!" ejaculated Lord Henry, twisting about in front of the mirror. "I used to dress like this years ago, but I had completely forgotten how to do it." "It's you who are the marvel," St. Maur exclaimed, contemplating his friend with a critical and approving eye. They returned to the Sanatorium to partake of a light dinner. The porter stared as he opened the door, and could scarcely believe his eyes. The matron was unusually self-conscious as she received the parting instructions from her chief, and the nurses all turned their heads in Lord Henry's direction as they sped hither and thither, unable to understand the meaning or the object of the strange metamorphosis. "The gorgeous vestments of the priest are all part of the general scheme," Lord Henry whispered to St. Maur, as he stepped into Sir Joseph's car. "Rather!" St. Maur cried after him; and in a few moments the car was well on its way. CHAPTER XII