He lifted his head, but his attempt at a smile was not hilarious.
“Well, Ann,” he submitted, “I've warned you. Bring along your dog.”
She took a sheet of paper out of one of the neat pockets in her rough, brown coat.
“I just wrote down some of the very best tailors' addresses—the very best,” she explained. “Don't you go to any but the very best, and be a bit sharp with them if they're not attentive. They'll think all the better of you. If your valet's a smart one, take him with you.”
“Yes, Ann,” he said rather weakly. “He's going to make a list of things himself, anyhow.”
“That sounds as if he'd got some sense.” She handed him the list of addresses. “You give him this, and tell him he must go to the very best ones.”
“What do I want to put on style for?” he asked desperately. “I don't know a soul on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.”
“You soon will,” she replied, with calm perspicacity. “You've got too much money not to.”
A gruff chuckle made itself heard from Hutchinson's side of the room.
“Aye, seventy thousand a year'll bring th' vultures about thee, lad.”