It was a mass of large, lustrous leaves, concealing a rotten trunk. Whilst Nancy looked on, Tarrant pulled at a long stem, and tried to break it away.
‘I must cut it.’
‘Why?’
‘You shall see.’
He wove three stems into a wreath.
‘There now, take off your hat, and let me crown you. Have I made it too large for the little head?’
Nancy, after a moment’s reluctance, unfastened her hat, and stood bareheaded, blushing and laughing.
‘You do your hair in the right way—the Greek way. A diadem on the top—the only way when the hair and the head are beautiful. It leaves the outline free—the exquisite curve that unites neck and head. Now the ivy wreath; and how will you look?’
She wore a dress of thin, creamy material, which, whilst seeming to cumber her as little as garments could, yet fitted closely enough to declare the healthy beauty of her form. The dark green garland, for which she bent a little, became her admirably.
‘I pictured it in my letter,’ said Tarrant, ‘the letter you never got.’