“Why not?”
“Well; looks rather like a musical comedy.”
“Cheek,” observed the cousin; “I do call that cool cheek; you’re balmy, Leyton.” Mr. Leyton looked no more; that was his genuine brotherly opinion; he thought the toque showy. It was the two wings, meeting in the middle of the front; he meant pantomime; he did not know the wings were cheap; he was shocked by the effectiveness; it was effective; cheap and hateful; but it suited her; pantomime effects were becoming. Where was the objection?
“That’s all right. I’m glad. I like musical comedies.”
“Oh; if you’re satisfied. If you don’t mind looking risky.”
“I say, look here old man, steady on,” blushed the cousin.
“Well. What do you think yourself? Come on.”
“I think it’s jolly pretty.”
“ I think it’s jolly fast .”
Miriam was quite satisfied. The cousin’s opinion went for nothing; a boy would like pantomime effects. But the hat was neither ugly nor dowdy. She would be able to tear down Oxford Street, no matter how ugly the cold made her feel, looking fast . It would help her to carry off meeting Mr. Shatov. He would not notice hats. But the extraordinary, rather touching thing was that Mr. Leyton should trouble at all. As if she belonged to his world and he were in some way responsible.
“All right Mr. Leyton; it’s fast; whatever that may mean.”