Over the purple under-garment came a complex garment of bluish white, and Graham, was clothed in the fashion once more and saw himself, sallow-faced, unshaven and shaggy still, but at least naked no longer, and in some indefinable unprecedented way graceful.
"I must shave," he said regarding himself in the glass.
"In a moment," said Howard.
The persistent stare ceased.

The young man closed his eyes, reopened them, and with a lean hand extended, advanced on Graham.

Then he stopped, with his hand slowly gesticulating, and looked about him.
"A seat," said Howard impatiently, and in a moment the flaxen-bearded man had a chair behind Graham.

"Sit down, please," said Howard.
Graham hesitated, and in the other hand of the wild-eyed man he saw the glint of steel.
"Don't you understand, Sire ?" cried the flaxen-bearded man with hurried politeness.

"He is going to cut your hair." "Oh!" cried Graham enlightened.