Frank was able to get three rooms at the Hotel de Paris at Monte Carlo. I had only to approve them. We met in our sitting-room at half-past three, ready to go out for a walk. It would be inexact to say that we were not nervous. But we were happy. He had not abandoned his straw hat.
‘Don’t wear that any more,’ I said to him, smiling.
‘But why? It’s quite new.’
‘It doesn’t suit you,’ I said.
‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ he laughed, and he put it on.
‘But I don’t like to see you in it,’ I persisted.
’Well, you’ll stand it this afternoon, my angel, and I’ll get another to-morrow.’
‘Haven’t you got another one here?’ I asked, with discontent.
‘No,’ and he laughed again.
‘But, dear—’ I pouted.
He seemed suddenly to realize that as a fact I did not like the hat.
‘Come here,’ he said, charmingly grave; and he led me by the hand into his bedroom, which was littered with clothes, small parcels, boots, and brushes. One chair was overturned.
‘Heavens!’ I muttered, pretending to be shocked at the disorder.
He drew, me to a leather box of medium size.
‘You can open it,’ he said.
I opened it. The thing was rather a good contrivance, for a man. It held a silk hat, an opera hat, a bowler hat, some caps, and a soft Panama straw.
‘And you said you had no others!’ I grumbled at him.
‘Well, which is it to be?’ he demanded.
‘This, of course,’ I said, taking the bowler. I reached up, removed the straw hat from his head, and put the bowler in its place. ‘There!’ I exclaimed, satisfied, giving the bowler a pat—there!’
He laughed, immensely content, enraptured, foolishly blissful. We were indeed happy. Before opening the door leading to the corridor we stopped and kissed.