again--the child he had first met at the Art School.

'Don't you think it suits me?' she said, turning round.

'Yes, I think you look very charming in it. Shall I put it back?'

There was a pause.

'I sha'n't know what on earth to do with it,' he said discontentedly.
'It's so silly having a hat about in a place like this. Of course you
wouldn't dare to keep it, I suppose? It does suit you all right, you
know; it would be awfully kind of you.'

'What a funny person you are, Vincy. I _should_ like to keep it. What
could I tell Aunt Jessie?'

'Ah, well, you see, that's where it is! I suppose it wouldn't do for
you to tell her the truth.'

'What do you mean by the truth?'

'I mean what I told you--how my cousin, Cissie Cavanack,' he smiled a
little as he invented this name, 'came up to town, chose the wrong hat,
didn't know what to do with it--and, you know!'

'I could tell her all that, of course.'

'All right,' said Vincy, putting the other hat--the old one--in the
box.' Where shall we dine?'