And when she saw who was in command the sylph as volubly acquiesced
that _naturellement_ it must be _tout a fait_ perfect. She would
send out and get one that would be oh! so, so, _so_ perfect. It
would take half an hour.

"Tell you what we'll do," Virginia's friend proposed, opera cloak
tight under one arm, velvet gown as tight under the other, "I'm
tired--hungry--thirsty; feel like a ham sandwich--and something. I'm
playing you out, too. Let's go out and get a bite and come back for
the so, so, _so_ perfect hat."

She hesitated. But he had the door open, and if he stood holding it
that way much longer he was bound to drop the violet velvet gown.
She did not want him to drop the velvet gown and furthermore, she
_would_ like a cup of tea. There came into her mind a fortifying
thought about the relative deaths of sheep and lambs. If to be
killed for the sheep were indeed no worse than being killed for
the lamb, and if a cup of tea went with the sheep and nothing at
all with the lamb--?

So she agreed. "There's a nice little tea-shop right round the
corner. We girls often go there."

"Tea? Like tea? All right, then"--and he started manfully on.

But as she entered the tea-shop she was filled with keen sense of
the desirableness of being slain for the lesser animal. For, cosily
installed in their favourite corner, were "the girls."

Virginia had explained to these friends some three hours before that