It was one of those dreary books of Benson's, which are conducive to intellectual and moral indigestion--wallowing in imaginary emotions--and I did not see how I could read it in the frame of mind I was then in. But I did not have to, for I was suddenly startled by a voice saying: "If you won't think me rude, I _should_ like to know where you got that hat?" My first thought was that Garvin's was another sort of private institution, but peering into the dim corner, I saw a typical "county family," or rather the head of one. He was a hale and hearty old man, somewhat over sixty, and had the ruddy complexion which only English country life can give. I saw he was not dangerous, and also that he was unquestionably a "gentleman," so I replied: "I am glad you like it. I got it at Bonwit Teller's." "I don't know the shop," he said, in a disappointed tone. "Well, that is not surprising, for it is in New York." "Really! And are you an American? I never should have," etc. "Did you want a hat like this for yourself?" I demurely asked. "Oh, I say! Now you are trying to pull my leg." I looked at the solid limb in question, and assured him I had no such purpose. "No, I didn't want it for myself. The truth is, I saw you at dinner--by the way, why do they call that leather they served to-night 'mutton'? I wonder if they have ever tasted mutton? Awful food they give one at these hotels nowadays! Poison, I call it! I always stop at my club when I come up to town, but this time I have my wife and daughter with me. Couldn't take them to the club, of course, so came here. Family been coming here forever, I should say; came when the father of this man had it. This man married the French maid, and she has put on the table a lot of kickshaws, and calls them a '_menu_.' Silly stuff. There was no such nonsense in the father's time. One just called the waiter and said, 'What's the joint?' and that was all there was to it. But, as I was saying, I saw you at dinner, and said to my daughter: 'That's a deuced pretty-looking girl over there, and I wish you had a hat like hers.' You don't mind my telling you this? Wouldn't do for a young man, but an old man has his privileges." I assured him I was flattered, and the simple-hearted old squire replied: "Not at all. The simple truth." I was rather confused at this and, not quite thinking what I was saying, asked what his daughter said. "'Why,' she said, 'if you admire the lady's hat, you had better ask her where she got it.' And, by George, I said I would, never dreaming, you understand, that I should really ever speak to you.