looking up from her soup. Mr. Leyton had a topic; she could keep it going with half her attention and go restfully on, fortifying herself for the afternoon. She would attack him about the book one day next week. …
“I say . What say you George?”
“Me? All right. I say, I say, I say, anything you like m’lord.”
Miriam looked up. Mr. Leyton was gazing and grinning.
“What’s the matter?” she snapped. His eyes were on her toque.
“ Where did you get that hat? Where did you get that tile,” sang the cousin absently, busy with his lunch.
“I made it if you must know,” said Miriam. The cousin looked across; large expressionless opinionless eyes.
“Going out in it?” What was the matter; Mr. Leyton had never noticed anything of hers before; either it was too awful, or really rather effective and he unconsciously resented the fact of her going about in an effect.