“They must each,” said Madge shakily, “make a list of what they need and
where they’ld like the things got. Who’s your bootmaker, David?”
“Stoop.”
“Very well. Nell and Crispin’ll go to Stoop, and Nell’ll order some
boots. Stoop’s got your last, and Crispin, being a man, will keep her
straight. In the same way, you and I’ll go to Zyrot’s and you shall pick
out some hats. They can be tried on me, and I’ll supervise your choice.”
“That’s all very well,” said David, “but I know Crispin’s ideas of
humour, and——”
“I give you my word,” said his host, “I’ll do you a treat. Nell shan’t
get a blinkin’ thing I wouldn’t be glad of myself. It’ll be for her, of
course, to choose the engagement ring.” He turned to Eleanor. “Oh, you
shall have a snorter.” The unfortunate Herrick blenched. “I think,
perhaps, you’d better have two—just in case you lose one.”
Madge Willoughby began to shake with laughter.
“If she does,” blurted David, “she’ll have all grey flannel
_lingerie_—with brass buttons.”
“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t do that,” said Eleanor. “That would be
unkind. Besides, a sponge-bag kilt wouldn’t suit you.”