"That's all very well," I protested, "but I don't take in a woman's fashion paper, and Isobel assured us that the hat was all right. She looks well enough in it, surely!"
"Isobel looks ripping!" Arthur declared, "but then, she looks ripping in anything. All the same, the hat's old-fashioned. You look at the hats those girls are wearing, who've just come in—flat, bunchy things, with flowers under the brim. That's the style just now."
"Isobel shall have one, then," I declared. "We will take her West to-morrow. We can afford it very well."
She came up to us beaming. She was a year older, and her skirts were a foot longer. Her figure was, perhaps, a shade more developed, and her manner a little more assured. In other respects she was unchanged.
"What are you two old dears worrying about?" she exclaimed lightly. "You have the air of conspirators. No secrets from me, please. What is it all about?"
"We are lamenting the antiquity of your hat," Mabane answered gravely. "Arthur assures us that it is out of date. It ought to be flat and bunchy, and it isn't!"
"Geese!" she exclaimed lightly, "both of you! Arthur, I'm ashamed of you. You may know something about motors, but you are very ignorant indeed about hats. Come along, all of you, and gaze at my miniatures. I am longing to see how they look framed."
"As regards the hat——" I began.
"I will not hear anything more about it," she interrupted, laughing. "Of course, if you don't like to be seen with me—oh! Why, look! look!"
We had stopped before a case of miniatures. In the front row were two somewhat larger than the others, and Isobel's first serious attempts. Behind each was stuck a little ivory board bearing the magic word "Sold."