Deveril lay near her, his hand palming his chin.
"Tell me, pretty maiden," he said lightly, "how far to the nearest barber shop?"
"And tell me," she returned, looking at her fingers, "if in that same shop they have a manicurist?"
Having glanced at her hands, she sighed, and then began working with her hair; there was one thing which must not be utterly neglected. She knew that if once it became snarled, she had small hope of saving it; no comb, no brush, no scissors to snip off a troublesome lock; only the inevitable result of such an utter snarl that she, too, in a week of this sort of thing, must needs seek a barber who understood bobbing a maid's hair. And with hair such as Lynette's, glorious, bronzy, with all the brighter glowing colors of the sunlight snared in it, any true girl should shudder at the barber's scissors.
All without warning a great booming voice crashed into their ears, shattering the silence, as Bruce Standing bore down upon them from the ridge, shouting:
"So, now I've got you! Got both of you! Got you where I want you, by the living God!"