“Cheek,” observed the cousin; “I do call that cool cheek; you’re balmy, Leyton.” Mr. Leyton looked no more; that was his genuine brotherly opinion; he thought the toque showy. It was the two wings, meeting in the middle of the front; he meant pantomime; he did not know the wings were cheap; he was shocked by the effectiveness; it _was_ effective; cheap and hateful; but it suited her; pantomime effects were becoming. Where was the objection? “That’s all right. I’m glad. I like musical comedies.” “Oh; if you’re satisfied. If you don’t mind looking risky.” “I say, look here old man, steady on,” blushed the cousin. “Well. What do you think yourself? Come on.” “I think it’s jolly pretty.” “_I_ think it’s jolly _fast_.” Miriam was quite satisfied. The cousin’s opinion went for nothing; a boy _would_ like pantomime effects. But the hat was neither ugly nor dowdy. She would be able to tear down Oxford Street, no matter how ugly the cold made her feel, looking _fast_. It would help her to carry off meeting Mr. Shatov. _He_ would not notice hats. But the extraordinary, rather touching thing was that Mr. Leyton should trouble at all. As if she belonged to his world and he were in some way responsible. “All right Mr. Leyton; it’s fast; whatever that may mean.” “Old Leyton thinks hats ought to be slow.” “Look here young fellow me lad, you teach your----” “Great-grandfather not to be rude.” “I fail to see the rudeness; I’ve merely expressed an opinion and I believe Miss Henderson agrees with it.” “Oh absolutely; ab-so_lute_-ly;” chanted Miriam scornfully. “Pray don’t worry about the pace of my millinery Mr. Leyton.” That was quite good, like a society novel.... “Well as I say if you’re _satisfied_.” “Ah. That’s another matter. The next time I want a hat I’ll go to Bond Street. So easy and simple.” “Seen the paper to-day, George?” “Paper? Noospaper? No time.” “Seen the B. M. J.?” “No sir.” “And you an aspiring medico.” “Should be an expiring medico,” yodelled George “if I read all those effusions.” “Well. More disclosures from Schenck.” “Who’s he, when he’s at home?” “You know. Schenck, man; _Schenk_. _You_ know.” “Oh, sorry; all right. What’s he babbling about now?” “Same thing; only more of it” giggled Mr. Leyton. “If it’s half past I must go,” announced Miriam peremptorily. Two watches came out. “Then I advise you to hook it pretty sharp; it’s twenty to. You’d better _read_ that article my son.” Miriam folded her serviette. “Righto. Don’t worry.” “_Why_ all this mystery? Good morning” said Miriam departing. “Good morning” said the two voices. Mr. Leyton held the door open and raised his voice to follow her up the stairs. “We’re discussing matters somewhat beyond your ken.”