XIII
The next week Annabel became flitting in her movements. She began to take an interest in her clothes, and evolved dainty, distracting gowns that made her piquant face almost beautiful. And she multiplied new ways of doing her hair—a new way for each new hat—till William Archer declared she might as well be a week-end visitor.
“Don’t you like it?” she demanded. She turned her head for inspection. She had come down to luncheon in a new hat that defied description.
William Archer surveyed it. “Well—it’s different! I can’t say it’s my idea of a suffragist hat!”
“I’m not a suffragist,” said Annabel calmly.
“How long since?” asked William Archer.
“Oh—quite a while.”
Eleanor was looking on with a little, amused smile.
“Turncoat!” said William Archer.