'Yes, my head would hardly be missed--you are quite right, Gibbs; but my
hair! What will they do without it at first nights and private views? It
was worth five shillings a week to many a poor paragraph-writer. Well, I
must try and make up for it by my beard!'

'Your beard, sir?' exclaimed Gibbs in horror.

'Yes, Gibbs; for some years I have been a Nazarene--that is, a Nazarite,
with the top half of my head; now I am going to change about and be a
Nazarite with the lower. The razor has kissed my cheeks and my chin and
the fluted column of my throat for the last time.'

'You cannot mean it, sir!' said Gibbs, suspending his murderous task a
moment.

'It's quite true, Gibbs.'

'Does she wish that too, sir?'

'Yes, that too.'

'Well, sir, I have heard of men making sacrifices for their wives, but
of all the cruel....'

'Please don't, Gibbs. It does no good. And Mrs. Rondel's motive is a
good one.'

'Of course, sir, I cannot presume--and yet, if it wouldn't be presuming,
I should like to know why you are making this great, I may say this
noble, sacrifice?'