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her enterprise was doomed? Ann very much feared that it did, but she would not accept defeat so easily. With the help of Mrs. Hill she increased her stock once more and filled her windows with the prettiest of her models. As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, she thought. And if she were doomed to go under, she wouldn’t tamely sink by slow degrees, but would go down gallantly with her flags flying, and with a grand and final splash.

She had heard no further word of the case, and knew nothing of Vera’s intentions. She had taken all the steps which James Ford had advised, and now could only await developments.

Rhoda Hemingway had gone back to her husband at the shcep-station fifty miles inland, but Stephanie, her eldest daughter, was in town staying with Mrs. Ford. She, also, bought two hats when her grand-mother—who paid the bill—brought her into Ann’s shop to introduce her. But Ann couldn’t live entirely on the purchases made by the Ford family; and as the second week dragged on with only one other customer, Ann began to think seriously of closing the shop altogether. But she had paid the rent for the first three months in advance, and she herself must live somewhere—she couldn’t leave the district now that this action was pending, and she might as well die gamely. So she continued to manufacture pretty hats, and put them in the window, in spite of the fact that no one appeared to want them. On Thursday Mrs. Ford had asked her to go up to afternoon tea with them. Stephanie would call for her in the car.

“Put on your prettiest hat and frock, my dear. In spite of my age, I haven’t lost my love of finery.”

Ann thought that this was rather a strange request,