"Oh!" said the Angel. He retreated so as to take in the Vicar from top to toe. "Wear clothes like yours!" he said. He was puzzled but amused. His eyes grew round and bright, his mouth puckered at the corners.
"Delightful!" he said, clapping his hands together. "What a mad, quaint dream this is! Where are they?" He caught at the neck of the saffron robe.
"Indoors!" said the Vicar. "This way. We will change—indoors!"
§ 12
So the Angel was invested in a pair of nether garments of the Vicar's, a shirt, ripped down the back to accommodate the wings, socks, shoes—the Vicar's dress shoes—collar, tie, and light overcoat. But putting on the latter was painful, and reminded the Vicar that the bandaging was temporary. "I will ring for tea at once, and send Grummet down for Crump," said the Vicar. "And dinner shall be earlier." While the Vicar shouted his orders over the landing rails, the Angel surveyed himself in the cheval-glass with immense delight. If he was a stranger to pain, he was evidently no stranger—thanks perhaps to dreaming—to the pleasure of incongruity.
They had tea in the drawing-room. The Angel sat on the music-stool (music-stool because of his wings). At first he wanted to lie on the hearth-rug. He looked much less radiant in the Vicar's clothes than he had done upon the moor when dressed in saffron.
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