purchasing of the yellow opera cloak. They paid for that decorative
garment the sum of two thousand five hundred francs. It seemed it
was embroidered, and the lining was--anyway, they paid it.

And they took it with them. He was going to "take no chances on
losing it." He was leaving Paris that night and held that during his
stay he had been none too impressed with either Parisian speed or
Parisian veracity.

Then they bought some "Breezes from Paris," a dress that would
"go with" the coat. It was violet velvet, and contributed to the
sense of doing one's uttermost; and hats--"the kind you see some
folks wearing." One was the rainbow done into flowers, and the
other the kind of black hat to outdo any rainbow. "If you could
just give me some idea what type your wife is," Virginia was
saying, from beneath the willow plumes. "Now you see this hat
quite overpowers me. Do you think it will overpower her?"

"Guess not. Anyway, if it don't look right on her head she may enjoy
having it around to look at."

Virginia stared out at him. The _oddest_ man! As if a hat were
any good at all if it didn't look right on one's head!

Upon investigation--though yielding to his taste she was still
vigilant as to his interests--Virginia discovered a flaw in one of
the plumes. The sylph in the trailing gown held volubly that it did
not _fait rien_; the man with the open purse said he couldn't
see that it figured much, but the small American held firm. That
must be replaced by a perfect plume or they would not take the hat.