Page:Wildwildheart00reesiala.pdf/203

“It might do. It’s certainly better than the one my daughter persuaded me to buy a week or two ago in Auckland. She said I looked sixteen in it. I thought I looked an old fool.”

Ann laughed.

“You couldn’t look that, whatever you put on. But I shouldn’t like you to go out of my shop wearing something that didn’t suit you.”

“Why not, if I pay for it?”

“It’s a bad advertisement for me. I’ve only had one failure of that sort. It was my first sale!”

“What happened?”

Ann told the story of the old Maori woman, and her new customer laughed again. As they continued to chat while trying on various hats, Ann wondered who she was. She apparently knew most of Ann’s clients very well, but she had not been at the Turf Club Race Meeting, and had never been into the shop before. At last a hat was decided upon which Ann and the purchaser decided was both suitable and becoming. Then she told Ann her name.

“I’m Mrs. Ford,” she said. “I wanted to meet you because my husband spoke to me about you last night.”

She did not tell Ann what had actually transpired between them. Ford had said:

“Go and see the poor child for yourself. Look at her honest eyes, and tell me if you think she’s the sort of girl who’s likely to be guilty of a sordid intrigue of this sort. I’ll take my oath she isn’t, but you’ve often told me your judgment’s better than mine with regard to women.”

“Of course it is. You’re no exception to the rule, my dear old stupid. Every man says good-by to his