"I don't know how I knew it was your knock," she said, giving ground as he entered. There was an expression in his face that made her own brighten, as though perhaps she had not been entirely certain in what humour he might arrive.
"The car will be here in a few minutes," he said. "That's a tremendously pretty hat of yours."
"Do you like it? I saw it the other day. And somehow I felt extravagant this afternoon and telephoned for it. Do you really like it, Jim?"
"It's a beauty."
"I'm so glad—so relieved. Sometimes I catch you looking at me, Jim, and I wonder how critical you really are. I want you to like what I wear. You'll always tell me when you don't, won't you?"
"No fear of my not agreeing with your taste," he said cheerfully. "By the way—and apropos of nothing—Waudle won't bother you any more."
"Oh!"
"I believe Clydesdale interviewed him—and the other one—the poet." He laughed. "Afterward there was not enough remaining for me to interview."
Jacqueline's serious eyes, intensely blue, were lifted to his.