He struck a match; she laughed and said: 'I don't believe I understand you a bit.'
'Oh—I went to the play last night,' said Vincy. 'Oh, Mavis, it was such a wearing play.'
'All about nothing, I suppose? They always are, now.'
'Oh no. It was all about everything. The people were so clever; it was something cruel how clever they were. One man did lay down the law! Oh, didn't he though! I don't hold with being bullied and lectured from the stage, do you, Mavis? It seems so unfair when you can't answer back.'
'Was it Bernard Shaw?' she asked.
'No; it wasn't; not this time; it was someone else. Oh, I do feel sometimes when I'm sitting in my stall, so good and quiet, holding my programme nicely and sitting up straight to the table, as it were, and then a fellow lets me have it, tells me where I'm wrong and all that; I should like to stand up and give a back answer, wouldn't you?'
'No; I'd like to see you do it! Er—what colour is that hat that your cousin gave you?'
'Oh, colour?' he said thoughtfully, smoking. 'Let me see—what colour was it? It doesn't seem to me that it was any particular colour. It was a very curious colour. Sort of mole-colour. Or was it cerise? Or violet?… You wouldn't like to see it, would you?'
'Why, yes, I'd like to see it; I wouldn't try it on of course.'
He opened the box.