I raised my head sharply, suffused by a glow of hope.  ’Elizabeth, my good girl,’ I exclaimed, ‘is it so easy to accomplish as all that?’

‘I’m not so sure about easy,’ she commented, looking me over as if I’d been an unlabelled exhibit in a Zoo. ’"Rome wasn’t built in a day,” as the sayin’ is, but it’s a long lane that ‘as no turnin’.  “If ’e,” ses Miss Marryun, meanin’ you, “was got up real smart with a fancy westcoat, a crease down the front of ‘is trousis, shinin’ button boots, and wos to shave orf ’is beard and moustarch—­” she said that bit very earnest, too—­“well, I should fair detest the sight of ‘im."’

I sank down in a seat with a groan of despair.  Elizabeth was right.  Such a metamorphosis would not be easy.  It would mean the overturning of my most cherished convictions, an upheaval of the very routine of my existence.  Would life be worth living if one awoke in a morning to the knowledge of the rites that every day would bring forth?  A matutinal shave, trousers to be taken from the press, collars and cuffs to be changed, hair and nails to be trimmed, the two latter, if not every day, at all events occurring with enough frequency to keep a simple man in a constant state of unrest.

‘Elizabeth,’ I said, shuddering, ‘I cannot do all this.’

‘Oo’s arskin’ you to?’ demanded the girl.  ’I was only repeating wot Miss Marryun ses to me with ’er own lips.  “Yes, I should fair get to detest ’im if ’e was spruce,” was ‘er very words.’

I pondered.  ‘Are you quite sure she stipulated about the beard?’

‘She did that.  She mentioned it pertickler three times.’

I shook my head firmly.  Whatever happened I did not mean to concede that point.  My beard is one of my best friends.  By allowing it to grow to a suitable length it conceals the fact when my ties have grown shabby, and saves me any unnecessary changing of collars.  No, I would never be clean-shaven.  I could not face the world stripped of my natural facial coverings.

’There may be something in what you say, and I will consider your suggestion regarding the trousers, Elizabeth,’ I conceded, ’but the suggestion that I should shave is perfectly monstrous and I won’t think of it for a moment.’

’Well, to my mind it’s one of the first things wot ought to be done with you,’ she said in what seemed to me a disparaging sort of voice, ‘wots the good o’ puttin’ a fancy westcoat an’ a watch an’ albert on a chap when ’e’s got an ‘ead like a wild man o’ the woods.  There ort to be no ‘arf an’ ‘arf about it, I ses.’

I looked at the girl sternly, feeling that her speech was becoming unduly familiar.  Nevertheless, I was conscious of a certain gratitude for her suggestion, and after she had gone out, I began to consider it from all points.  There could be no harm in gradually making those changes in my habits and apparel which would bring about Miss Warrington’s disillusionment, but it must be fairly gradual.  Otherwise it might attract undue attention, for there are times when I think I am just a trifle careless about my appearance.