eeded her in those days: turned to her for comfort when
business was bad, taken her out on the burst--just they two alone--when
things looked up and there had been a good day's takings. The
excitement over choosing her best hat--the one with the bunches of
fruit in it. . . . As long as she lived she would never forget the
morning she tried it on, when he deserted the shop and cheered from the
bedroom door, thereby losing a prospective customer.

But now, all he cared about was that she should go to the best people
and spare no expense.

"We can afford it, my dear," he was wont to remark, "and I want you to
keep your end up with the best of 'em. You must remember my position
in the county."

Even alone with her he kept up the pretence, and she backed him
loyally. Was he not still her man; and if he was happy, what else
mattered? And she would call herself a silly old woman. . . .

But there was just once when he came back to her, and she locked away
the remembrance of that night in her secret drawer--the drawer that
contained amongst other things a little bunch of artificial grapes
which had once adorned the hat. . . .

There had been a big dinner of the no-expense-spared type; and to it
had been invited most of the County. Quite a percentage had accepted,
and it was after dinner, just before the guests were going, that the
owner of a neighbouring house had inadvertently put his thoughts into
words, not knowing that his host was within hearing.

"It makes me positively sick to see that impossible little bounder
strutting about round Rumfold."

"Impossible little bounder." It hit the little man like a blow between
the eyes, and that night, in bed, a woman with love welling over in her
heart comforted her man.

"It wasn't him that had been meant. . . . Of course not . . . . Why
the dinner had been a tremendous success. . . . Lady Sarah Wellerby
had told her so herself. . . . Had asked them over in return. . . .
And had suggested that they should give a dance, to which she and her
six unmarried daughters would be delighted to come."

But she didn't tell him that she had overheard Lady Sarah remark to the
wife of Admiral Blake that "the atrocious little cook person had better
be cultivated, she supposed. One never knows, my dear. The ballroom
is wonderful and men will come anywhere for a good supper. . . ." No,
she didn't tell him that: nor mention the misery she had suffered
during dinner. She didn