was smiling a little, apparently at the thought of my wearing Hudson seal so early in the season.
"Yes, one does," he agreed, as he laid the coat carefully aside. "Yet from its appearance I'd venture a guess that you haven't had it long."
I gave him a good look, but his face was as non-committal as his cut-glass.
"No, they're not wearing them long this year," I parried, and he solemnly wagged his head, as though that pearl of wisdom were something requiring deep thought. Then he came out of his trance.
"Hungry?" he inquired, as he held a chair for me.
"Starving," I told him as I sank into it, stowing the club-bag close in down by my feet, where I could keep an inquiring toe against its side, the same as a cow going to market keeps a nose against her precious calf.
Then I deliberately turned the ring on my finger, so that the big ruby surrounded by black pearls couldn't keep from staring him in the face. I waited to see what he would do when he caught sight of it. But, to my surprise, he didn't seem to recognize it. So there was, I concluded, more than one Wendy in the world.
"Champagne?" he casually inquired, as he sat
