cape, of buff-coloured cloth.

He supported our examination, and the accompanying interval of
silence, which ordinary flesh and blood might have found embarassing,
with more than composure--with, it seemed to me, a dimly perceptible,
subcutaneous smile, as of satisfaction--and seated himself at the only
vacant table. This world held nothing human worthy to rivet our
attention longer than thirty seconds, whence, very soon, we were hot
in debate again. It was the first Sunday in May; I need hardly add
that our subject-matter was the _Vernissage_, at which the greater
number of us had assisted.

For myself, however, I could not forbid my gaze to wander back from
time to time upon the stranger: an indulgence touching which I felt
the less compunction, in that he had (it was a fair inference) got
himself up with a deliberate view to attracting just such notice. Else
why the sombrero and knickerbockers, the flowing locks and eccentric
yellow cloak? Nay, I think it may have been in part this very note of
undisguised vanity in the man that made it difficult to keep one's
eyes off him: it tickled the sense of humour, and challenged the
curiosity. What would his state of mind be, who, in the dotage of the
Nineteenth Century, went laboriously out of his way to cultivate a
fragmentary resemblance to--say a spurious Vandyke?

As the heat of the room began to tell upon him, he threw aside his
outer garment, and hung up his hat, thereby discovering a velvet
jacket and a very low-cut shirt, with unstarched rolling collar, and
sailor's knot of pale green Liberty silk. His long hair, of a faded,
dusty brown, was brushed straight back from his forehead, and
plastered down upon his scalp, in such wise as to lend him a