"I'm only a silly girl, Alfred."
He repeated obstinately:
"You're grand. I reckon 'tis your soul which comes nigh to busting your dinky body. Now, Fancy, what do you think about, nights?"
Direct in all things, it never occurred to Alfred that a modest girl might shrink from answering such a question in the sincere spirit which put it. She smiled sweetly:
"When we talked about that, Alfred, I was thinking amongst other things of...."
"Yes, dear?"
"That hat." She pointed a slim finger at it. "I wanted that hat ever so, because I saw one very like it on the pretty head of Mrs. Lionel Pomfret. I wrote a long letter to Father, telling him where to buy the straw and the trimmings. You like it, don't you?"
"I never saw a prettier hat, but I like best the head as bobs under it."
"It cost me four-and-eight; not a penny more."
"Wonderful you be with your needle. Go on, Fancy. I reckon that hats ain't all you think about."