uld fit him.
In the end, since it seemed absurd to purchase even a second-hand suit
for a single evening, he brushed his Sunday clothes and bought a pair of
patent-leather shoes.

He arrived at the platform of Westland Row Station in good time for
the train he meant to catch. He was soon joined by Miss O'Dwyer, who
appeared with her head and neck swathed in a fluffy shawl and the train
of a silk skirt gathered in her hand. The view of several flounces of
nebulous white petticoat confirmed Hyacinth in his conjecture that she
was bound for Miss Goold's party. No one who could be supposed to be a
member of Captain Quinn's corps appeared on the platform, and Hyacinth
became painfully conscious of the shortcomings of his costume. He
thought that even Miss O'Dwyer glanced at it with some contempt. He
wished that, failing a dress-suit, he could have imitated the Imperial
Yeomen who paraded the streets, and donned some kind of uniform. His
discomfort reached a climax when Ginty received them at the door, passed
Miss O'Dwyer on to the incompetent niece, and solemnly extracted the new
shoes from their brown-paper parcel.

Miss Goold stood chatting to Captain Quinn when Hyacinth entered the
drawing-room. She moved forward to meet him, radiant and splendid, he
thought, beyond imagination. The rustle of her draperies, the faint
scent that hung around her, and the glitter of the stones on her throat,
bewildered him.

It was not till after he had been presented to his commander that he was
able to take his eyes off her. Then, in spite of his embarrassment, he
experienced surprise and disappointment. He had formed no clear idea
of what he expected Captain Quinn to be like, but he had a vague mental
picture of a furiously-moustachioed swashbuckler, a man of immense power
and hirsute hands. Instead, there stood before him a slim, small man,
clean shaved, with shiny black hair smoothly brushed. His clothes were
so well cut and his linen so glossy that he seemed fittingly placed even
beside the magnificent Finola. His hand, when Hyacinth shook it, seemed
absurdly small, and his feet, in their neat pumps, were more like a
woman's than a man's. Then, when he turned to resume his conversation
with his hostess, Hyacinth was able to watch his face. He noticed
the man's eyes. They were small and quick, like a bird's, and shifted
rapidly, never resting long on any object. His mouth was seldom closed,
and the lips, like the eyes, moved incessan