I shall never forget how she looked then.
For the first time I saw her close by without a hat. Her hair, of golden brown, but bright gold in the sunlight, was in soft short ringlets like a baby’s curls. I know a lot, having sisters, about marcel and permanent, about water waves and finger curls, but this hair, I recognized, had that unusual attribute, longed for by all women: it was naturally curly.
The tendrils clustered at the nape of her neck and broke into soft, thick curls at the top of her head. I had never seen such fascinating hair, and dimly wondered what it was like before she had it cut short.
She wore a sort of sports suit of white silk with bands of green.
She glanced down at this apologetically.
“I ought to be in black,” she said, “or, at least, all white. But I am, when I go over to the mainland. Here at home, it doesn’t seem to matter. Does it?”
She looked up at me appealingly, though with no trace of coyness.
“Of course not,” I assured her. “Our affection is not made or marred by the colour of a garment.”
This sounded a bit stilted, even to me, but Kee had told me not to make a fool of myself and I was trying hard to obey.
“Sit down,” she said, hospitably, but though calm, she was far from being at ease.