“I say. What say you George?”
“Me? All right. I say, I say, I say, anything you like m’lord.”
Miriam looked up. Mr. Leyton was gazing and grinning.
“What’s the matter?” she snapped. His eyes were on her toque.
“Where did you get that hat? Where did you get that tile,” sang the cousin absently, busy with his lunch.
“I made it if you must know,” said Miriam. The cousin looked across; large expressionless opinionless eyes.
“Going out in it?” What was the matter; Mr. Leyton had never noticed anything of hers before; either it was too awful, or really rather effective and he unconsciously resented the fact of her going about in an effect.
“Why not?”
“Well; looks rather like a musical comedy.”
“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?