came wearing a red one with black wings. Not so bad; but it was a little brown one he chose with a fur band; just like a little French hat, the milliner followed Fawnie to the door to say. It certainly became her, and she wore it when she left, carrying her old one in a paper bag.
At the dry goods store she bought a brown coat with a fur collar, a plaid skirt, two blouses (she did not trouble much about underwear), and a pair of brown boots. There were things bought for Buckskin that only a woman knew how to buy, but Derek strode in himself, with the child on his arm, and bought him a little rabbit skin coat and a cap with earlugs.
Their presence created an agreeable excitement in the shops, for everyone knew their story, and customers and clerks alike craned their necks to catch a glimpse of that handsome young Mr. Vale and his Indian wife.
In the chemist's window a pyramid of pink soap caught Fawnie's eye. She must have some, and a new sponge for the baby. Derek waited outside while she made her purchases. . . .
They were opposite The Duke of York as the town bell struck the hour of noon. Of his own accord the horse turned in towards the stables. Fawnie said she was starving, and Derek realized that he himself was very hungry. He looked her over critically. In her dark ulster and little fur-trimmed toque she looked well-dressed, and incredibly lovely. Her cheeks were flushed with health and pleasure, her eyes had the brilliance of some furry forest animal's peering from under a bush. Her mouth and chin made him smile, they were so disdainful.
"How should you like," he asked, "to go in and have some dinner?"
"It would be jolly." But she showed no surprise.
"What about the kid?"
