She had come suddenly round the corner of the house. Her dress was of a dark but vivid blue, very plain and angular in outline, but not outrageously artistic; and in the morning light she looked less like a schoolgirl and more like a serious woman of twenty-five or thirty; a little older and a great deal more interesting. And something in this morning seriousness increased the reaction of the night before. One single wave of thanksgiving went up from Crane to think that at least his grotesque green hat was gone and done with for ever. He had worn it for a week without caring a curse for anybody; but during that ten minutes’ trivial talk under the lamp-post, he felt as if he had suddenly grown donkey’s ears in the street. He had been induced by the sunny weather to have a little table laid for three in a sort of veranda open to the garden. When the three sat down to it, he looked across at the lady and said: “I fear I must exhibit myself as a crank; one of those cranks your cousin disapproves of, Miss Smith. I hope it won’t spoil this little lunch for anybody else. But I am going to have a vegetarian meal.” “Are you?” she said. “I should never have said you looked like a vegetarian.” “Just lately I have only looked like a fool,” he said dispassionately; “but I think I’d sooner look a fool than a vegetarian in the ordinary way. This is rather a special occasion. Perhaps my friend Hood had better begin; it’s really his story more than mine.” “My name is Robert Owen Hood,” said that gentleman, rather sardonically. “That’s how improbable reminiscences often begin; but the only point now is that my old friend here insulted me horribly by calling me Robin Hood.” “I should have called it a compliment,” answered Audrey Smith. “But why did he call you Robin Hood?” “Because I drew the long bow,” said the lawyer. “But to do you justice,” said the Colonel, “it seems that you hit the bull’s-eye.” As he spoke Archer came in bearing a dish which he placed before his master. He had already served the others with the earlier courses, but he carried this one with the pomp of one bringing in the boar’s head at Christmas. It consisted of a plain boiled cabbage. “I was challenged to do something,” went on Hood, “which my friend here declared to be impossible. In fact, any sane man would have declared it to be impossible. But I did it for all that. Only my friend, in the heat of rejecting and ridiculing the notion, made use of a hasty expression. I might almost say he made a rash vow.” “My exact words were,” said Colonel Crane solemnly: “‘If you can do that, I’ll eat my hat.’” He leaned forward thoughtfully and began to eat it. Then he resumed in the same reflective way: