“But I sha’n’t let you interfere too much. What do men know of millinery?” she asked contemptuously.
“I am sure I know what would suit you,” he replied. “You see, you’re very vivid, and very much alive; you stand out, so you really want, if I may say so, attenuating, subduing, shading.”
“Perhaps you would like me to put my head in a bag?”
“No one would regret that more than I should.”
“I foresee we’re going to quarrel about this hat,” she answered. “Now, Mr. Denison, do let me explain to you, I don’t want anything smart. I don’t want to look like Paris Fashions.”
“No? What do you want to look like?”
“Why, artistic, of course! What a blighter you are!”
Rupert winced at this vague accusation. They were nearly at her house and he put his hand on hers in a way that was rather controlling than caressing.
“Let me have one little pleasure. Let me choose your hat myself,” he said. He was terrified at the idea of what she might come out in on artistic grounds. Then she would tell all her friends it was a present from him! She had no sort of reticence.
“Well, I suppose you must have your own way. Do you really know anything about it?” she asked doubtfully.