She glanced up, and then quickly down. And she felt herself blushing again; she didn't exactly like to blush—yet—yet—
“Do I want it?”
Already Raymond had dropped his improvised fan and was fumbling for his knife.
“Where?” he asked.
Missy shivered deliciously at the imminence of that bright steel blade; what if he should let it slip?—but, just then, even mutilation, provided it be at Raymond's hand, didn't seem too terrible.
“Wherever you want,” she murmured.
“All right—I'll take a snip here where it twines round your ear—it looks so sort of affectionate.”
She giggled with him. Of course it was all terribly silly—and yet—
Then there followed a palpitant moment while she held her breath and shut her eyes. A derisive shout caused her to open them quickly. There stood Don Jones, grinning.
“Missy gave Raymond a lock of her hair! Missy gave Raymond a lock of her hair!”