tody was too good
to lose.

Meg had deferred the adoption of the musical-comedy costume until such
time as she took over Ayah's duties. She in no way interfered, but was
helpful in so many unobtrusive ways that Jan, while she still felt
guilty in allowing her to stay at all, acknowledged she could never have
got through this time without her.

Fortunately the day of Ayah's departure was fine, so that while Jan took
her to her destination Meg took the children to spend the afternoon at
the Zoo. To escort little Fay about London was always rather an ordeal
to anyone of a retiring disposition. She was so fearless, so interested
in her fellow-creatures, and so ready at all times and in all places to
enter into conversation with absolute strangers, preferably men, that
embarrassing situations were almost inevitable; and her speech, high and
clear and carrying--in spite of the missing "r"--rendered it rarely
possible to hope people did not understand what she said.

They went by the Metropolitan to Baker Street and sat on one of the
small seats at right angles to the windows, and a gentleman wearing a
very shiny top-hat sat down opposite to them.

He looked at little Fay; little Fay looked at him and, smiling her
adorable, confident smile, leant forward, remarking: "Sahib, you wear a
very high hat."

Instantly the eyes of all the neighbouring passengers were fixed upon
the hat and its owner. His, however, were only for the very small lady
that faced him; the small lady in a close white bonnet and bewitching
curls that bobbed and fluttered in the swaying of the train.

He took off the immaculate topper and held it out towards her. "There,"
he said, "would you like to look at it?"

Fay carefully rubbed it the wrong way with a tentative woolly-gloved
finger. "Plitty, high hat," she cooed. "Can plitty little Fay have it to
keep?"

But the gentleman's admiration did not carry him as far as this.
Somewhat hastily he withdrew his hat, smoothed it (it had just been
ironed) and placed it on his head again. Then he became aware of the
smiling faces and concentrated gaze of his neighbours; also, that the
attractive round face that had given him so much pleasure had exchanged
its captivating smile for a pathetic melancholy that even promised
tears. He turned extremely red and escaped at the next station.
Whereupon ungrateful little Fay, who had never had the slightest
intention of crying, remarked loftily: "Tahsome man dawn."