'Well—the Ottleys!'
His eye instinctively travelled to a photograph of Edith, all tulle and roses; a rather fascinating portrait.
'What about her?' asked Mavis. 'What price Mrs Ottley?'
'Really, Mavis!—What price? No price. Nothing about her; she's just a great friend of mine. I think I told you that before. … What a frightfully bright light there is in the room,' Vincy said. He got up and drew the blind down. He came back to her.
'Your hair's coming down,' he remarked.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But at the back it generally is.'
'Don't move—let me do it.'
Pretending to arrange it, he took all the hairpins out, and the cloud of dark red hair fell down on her shoulders.
'I like your hair, Mavis.'
* * * * *