“It’s Palladia!” I found her at last. “My milliner, lost to us in Rome for three painful years, ever since she went to Palermo to set up for herself.”
I spoke to the girl without more ado:
“Palladia, don’t you remember me?”
“Perfectly, Signora. I have not seen you since the morning I brought you the hat with the primole for Pasqua.”
“And you would not have spoken to me?”
“Pardon me, Signora, may I fasten your veil? I feared you would not recall me.” We were shaking hands warmly now; she was my milliner again, I her client.
“If I bent the hat a little, so? That is more becoming.”
“You have done well in Palermo?”
“Discreetly; I am returning from Naples, where I have been to buy the new shapes, look over the modes. I have some beautiful French straw—if the Signora should come to Palermo?”
“Of course I shall come, just to get one of your hats. I haven’t had a decent one since you left Rome.” Palladia produced her card and, wishing each other buon viaggio, we parted at the dock, Palladia to take the train for Palermo, we to look for a cab.