The mite in short frock treated the shopwoman with all the airs of a grown customer, and was even more _difficile_ and critical than her own mamma. First she tried on one hat, then another; and to see the little top-heavy figure, glass in hand, strutting and backing in front of a great spotty mirror, and contemplating herself from every point of view with the most anxious solemnity, was to all concerned a truly entertaining spectacle. Several torpid assistants had collected at a respectable distance, enjoying the comedy with faint grins as Angel gravely appeared, and disappeared, under various monstrosities. For a time she was sorely divided between a scarlet plush tam-o'-shanter and a green straw with yellow flowers. Finally it was a bright blue satin toque with mother-of-pearl buckles which captured her affections. She put it on, and took it off, then put it on again, whilst Gascoigne and the European attendant watched her attentively. "I say, Angel, that won't do," he said, breaking the spell at last; "no, nor any single one of the lot. You'd look like an owl in an ivy bush." "Oh, Philip, not really," she protested, and her eyes grew large with amazement. "No, none of them are suitable. That thing you've on weighs pounds; you'd want a man to carry it. I'll tell you what, perhaps this young lady here will fit you out with a nice straw hat, and trim it." "Oh, yes, sir," she assented briskly. "I believe I have what will answer exactly," producing a pile of plain straws. "Try this on, missy." But it was such a bare, uninteresting-looking article. Two great tears stood in Angel's eyes. These she bravely winked away, and said with a gulp, "Very well, Phil; I suppose you know best." "I'll make it so smart, missy," said the sympathetic attendant, "with big bows of fresh white ribbon." "And roses? Oh, Philip, say I am to have roses?" she pleaded with clasped hands, and a voice that was tragic. "Yes, roses by all means, if they are indispensable to your happiness." "Oh, they are—and pink ones." "Then we will leave the matter entirely to you," said Gascoigne to the milliner, as he stood up; "a child's hat, you know, not a May bush." And Miss Harris, who was rarely favoured with such a customer, gave Mr. Gascoigne an emphatic promise, and her sweetest smile. As a solace from being parted from her beloved blue toque, her cousin presented Angel with a large box of chocolates, a bottle of perfume, a silver thimble, and a doll, and the little creature returned to the dogcart with her arms full and her face radiant. CHAPTER V THE LUCKNOW ROAD "AND now for a good spin along the Lucknow road," said Gascoigne when they had extricated themselves from the teeming bazaar.