In that moment he had turned and sat on it.
Deliberately, yet impulsively, and without a twinge of remorse, he had sat on it. But not so that Rose could see him.
"I haven't done anything with it," said he, "I couldn't do anything with a hat like that."
"You've 'idden it somewhere."
He got up slowly, feigning a search, and produced what a minute ago had been Rose's hat.
It was an absurd thing of wire and net, Rose's hat, and it had collapsed irreparably.
"Well, I declare, if you haven't gone and sat on it."
"It looks as if I had. Can you forgive me?"
"Well—if it was an accident."
He looked down upon her tenderly.