"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. * * * * * [Illustration: _Raw Hand_ (_at sea for first time and observing steamer's red and green lights_). "'ERE'S SOME LIGHTS ON THE STARBOARD SIDE, SIR." _Officer_. "WELL, WHAT IS IT?" _R.H_. "LOOKS TO ME LIKE A CHEMIST'S SHOP, SIR."] * * * * * SMALL-TALK. "Of course you must come," said Mary; "it's nonsense to say you can't dance." Mary is married to my first cousin, Thomas. I looked at Thomas, but saw no hope of support. Thomas labours under the delusion that he can jazz. "It isn't only the dancing," I protested; "it's the conversational strain. Besides, as one of the original founders of the League to Minimise Gossip amongst General Staff Officers--" "Rot!" said Thomas; "you simply let your partners do the talking. You needn't even listen. Just say 'Quite' in your most official tone whenever you hear them saying nothing." Thomas, although my first cousin, is not bright; but I had to go. For the first few dances I escaped; the crowd round the door was so dense that I saw at once that I should be trampled to death if I attempted to enter. Then I was caught by Mary and introduced to a total stranger. I suppose there are people who do not mind kicking a total stranger round the room to the strain of cymbals, a motor siren and a frying-pan. I fancy the lady expressed a desire to stop, but as her words were lost in the orchestral pandemonium I realised that as long as the dulcet chords continued conversation was impossible; so we danced on. Fortunately too, when the interval came, she was full of small-talk. "Isn't the floor good? And I always like this band." "Quite," said I. "Rather sporting of the Smythe-Joneses to give a dance." "Quite," said I. "Especially when their eldest boy, the one, you know, who was so frightfully good at golf or something, has just got into a mess with--"