Philomena presses the brim of a black felt hat into shape over the kettle's steam, then turns it toward you. "Tilt your head, darlin'. No, the other way. Oh, you'll do. Now that is a hat." Darlin', you walked in right as the steam peaked, so you can hold the brim while I work. Sit on the settee, tell me what occasion you're dressing for, and I'll find the angle that suits your face.