Nan patted her sleek slightly Japanese-looking hair. “Ah ... splashes of scarlet, my dear. Splashes of scarlet. One in my hair and one here.” She patted the broad level of her enviable breast towards the left shoulder.
“Almost on the shoulder, you know—arranged flat, can’t be squashed and showing as you dance.”
“Geraniums! Oom. You’ve got awfully good taste. What a frightfully good effect. Bright red and bright white. Clean. Go on, Nan.”
“Killing,” pursued Nan. “Tom said at breakfast with his mouth absolutely full of sweet-bread, ‘it’ll rain’—growled, you know, with his mouth crammed full. ‘Never mind, Tommy,’ said Ella with the utmost promptitude, ‘they’re sure to have the alcoves.’ ‘Oomph,’ growled Tommy, pretending not to care. Naughty Tommy, naughty, naughty Tommy!”
“Any cake left?” sighed Miriam, sinking back amongst her petals and hoping that Nan’s voice would go on.
“You girls are the most adorable individuals I ever met.... Did anybody see Pearlie going home this afternoon?”
Everyone chuckled and waited.
“My dears! My dears!! Bevan dragged me along to the end of the pavilion to see him enter up the handicaps with his new automatic pen—awfully smashing—and I was just hobbling the last few yards past the apple trees when we saw Pearlie hand-in-hand with the Botterford boys, prancing along the asphalt court—prancing, my dears!”
Miriam and Harriett dragged themselves up to see. Nan bridled and swayed from listener to listener, her wide throat gleaming as she sang out her words.
“Prancing—with straggles of grey hair sticking out and that tiny sailor hat cocked almost on to her nose. My dear, you sh’d’ve seen Bevan! He put up his eyeglass, my dears, for a fraction of a second,” Nan’s head went up—“Madame Pompadour,” thought Miriam—and her slanting eyes glanced down her nose, “and dropped it, clickety-click. You sh’d’ve seen the expression on his angelic countenance.”