"Yes, you may well look at my hat."
"I wasn't looking at it, I was looking through it."
"Well, if you can see through my hat, Lucia, you can see through me. What do you think of it?"
"Of the hat? Oh, the hat is a poem."
"Isn't it? Did you ever see anything so inspired, so impassioned?"
"Inspired, but—don't you think—just a little, a little meaningless?"
"Meaningless? It's packed with meaning."
"I should like to know what it means."
"If it means nothing else it means that I've been going to and fro the whole blessed afternoon, paying calls in Harmouth for my sins."
"Poor Kitty."