'Why, what a jolly hat!' she exclaimed. 'You may not know it, but that would just suit me; it would go with my dress, too.' 'Fancy.' She took off her own hat, and touched up her hair with her fingers, and tried on the other. Under it her eyes brightened in front of the glass; her colour rose; she changed as one looked at her--she was sixteen again--the child he had first met at the Art School. 'Don't you think it suits me?' she said, turning round. 'Yes, I think you look very charming in it. Shall I put it back?' There was a pause. 'I sha'n't know what on earth to do with it,' he said discontentedly. 'It's so silly having a hat about in a place like this. Of course you wouldn't dare to keep it, I suppose? It does suit you all right, you know; it would be awfully kind of you.' 'What a funny person you are, Vincy. I _should_ like to keep it. What could I tell Aunt Jessie?' 'Ah, well, you see, that's where it is! I suppose it wouldn't do for you to tell her the truth.' 'What do you mean by the truth?' 'I mean what I told you--how my cousin, Cissie Cavanack,' he smiled a little as he invented this name, 'came up to town, chose the wrong hat, didn't know what to do with it--and, you know!' 'I could tell her all that, of course.' 'All right,' said Vincy, putting the other hat--the old one--in the box.' Where shall we dine?' 'Oh, Vincy, I think you're very sweet to me, but how late dare I get back to Ravenscourt Park?' 'Why not miss the eight-five train?--then you'll catch the quarter to ten and get back at about eleven.' 'Which would you _rather_ I did?' 'Well, need you ask?' 'I don't know, Vincy. I have a curious feeling sometimes. I believe you're rather glad when I've gone--relieved!' 'Well, my dear,' he answered, 'look how you worry all the time! If you'd only have what I call a quiet set-down and a chat, without being always on the fidget, always looking either at the glass or at the clock, one might _not_ have that feeling.' Her colour rose, and tears came to her eyes. 'Oh, then you _are_ glad when I'm gone!' She pouted. 'You don't care for me a bit, Vincy,' she said, in a plaintive voice. He sat down next to her on the little striped sofa, and took her hand. 'Oh, give over, Mavis, do give over! I wish you wouldn't carry on like that; you do carry on, Mavis dear, don't you? Some days you go on something cruel, you do really. Reely, I mean. Now, cheer up and be jolly. Give a kiss to the pretty gentleman, and look at all these pretty good-conduct stripes on the sofa! There! That's better.' 'Don't speak as if I were a baby!' 'Do you mind telling me what we're quarrelling about, my dear? I only ask for information.' 'Oh, we're _not_. You're awfully sweet. You know I love you, Vincy.' 'I thought, perhaps, it was really all right.' 'Sometimes I feel miserable and jealous.' He smiled. 'Ah! What are you jealous of, Mavis?' 'Oh, everything--everyone--all the people you meet.'