ty,
with worship--in short, with true Gallic appreciation. Vera much
enjoyed Gallic appreciation. It ravished her to think that she was the
light of poor Felix's existence, an unattainable star for him. Of
course, Stephen didn't mind. That is to say, he didn't really mind.

The car rushed off in the direction of Exeter, homewards.

That day, by means of Felix's expert illegal driving, they got as far
as Bath; and there were no breakdowns. The domestic atmosphere in the
tonneau was slightly disturbed at the beginning of the run, but it soon
improved. Indeed, after lunch Stephen grew positively bright and gay.
At tea, which they took just outside Bristol, he actually went so far
as to praise the hat. He said that it was a very becoming hat, and also
that it was well worth the money. In a word, he signified to Vera that
their first battle had been fought and that Vera had won, and that he
meant to make the best of it and accept the situation.

Vera was naturally charmed, and when she was charmed she was charming.
She said to herself that she had always known that she could manage a
man. The recipe for managing a man was firmness coupled with charm. But
there must be no half measures, no hesitations. She had conquered. She
saw her future life stretching out before her like a beautiful vista.
And Stephen was to be her slave, and she would have nothing to do but
to give rein to her caprices, and charm Stephen when he happened to
deserve it.

But the next morning the hat had vanished out of the bedroom of the
exclusive hotel at Bath. Vera could not believe that it had vanished;
but it had. It was not in the hat-box, nor on the couch, nor under the
couch, nor perched on a knob of the bedstead, nor in any of the spots
where it ought to have been. When she realized that as a fact it had
vanished she was cross, and on inquiring from Stephen what trick he had
played with her hat, she succeeded in conveying to Stephen that she was
cross. Stephen was still in bed, comatose. The tone of his reply
startled her.

'Look here, child,' he said, or rather snapped--he had never been
snappish before--'since you took the confounded thing off last evening
I haven't seen it and I haven't touched it, and I don't know where it
is.'

'But you must--'

'I gave in to you about the hat,' Stephen continued to snap, 'though I
knew I was a fool to do so, and I consider I behaved pretty pleasantly
over it too. But I don't want any more scenes. If