She turned scarlet at his unconscious reminder of her state. How beautifully simple the man was!
“I’m not very old,” she said hastily, in order to cover her confusion. “Only twenty-two. But it feels like a thousand.” Her involuntary sigh was full of weariness.
He patted her hand, as it idly crumbled the bread upon her plate.
“Poor kid!”
Then his eyes lighted daringly.
“Don’t you think you’d feel less aged if you wore a more youthful hat?”
She looked at him in utter surprise.
“Don’t you like my hat?” Her tone was wistful.
“Isn’t it a trifle middle-aged?” he replied cautiously. “Your face is so small and pale, it sort of broods over it, like a hen sitting on an egg. Why don’t you get yourself something flapperish with a little color in it?”
Claire drew a puzzled breath.