There was a moment's pause. It was no use saying anything. Suddenly
Nancy jumped up and clutched me by the arm.

"George," she said anxiously, "you didn't, you didn't say anything
about that hat to the girl in the shop, did you?"

"I believe I mentioned that I thought it was extremely pretty, and
that I was sorry you weren't keeping it," I replied airily. "But why?"
For my wife's face had suddenly assumed an expression of horrified
dismay.

"I shall never be able to go into that shop again," she wailed,
"never. I wrote them a note saying that I was not keeping the hat
because _my husband very much disliked it_, and that I didn't care
ever to wear anything of which he didn't approve."

What is really very unfair about the whole thing is that I know
that Nancy thinks me entirely to blame. Indeed she told me so. When
I ventured to point out that she had not been quite truthful in
the matter she was at first genuinely and honestly amazed, and
subsequently so indignant that I was fain ultimately to apologise.

In looking back upon the episode I am filled with admiration for
the red-haired girl. I consider that she showed extraordinary
self-restraint in what must have been a peculiarly tempting situation.

R.F.

* * * * *