"But you called him--" "A capillotomist--precisely! He is one of the finest artists in the world." Graham sat down abruptly.

The flaxen-bearded man disappeared.

The capillotomist came forward, examined Graham's ears and surveyed him, felt the back of his head, and would have sat down again to regard him but for Howard's audible impatience.

Forthwith with rapid movements and a succession of deftly handled implements he shaved Graham's chin, clipped his moustache, and cut and arranged his hair.

All this he did without a word, with something of the rapt air of a poet inspired.