Blake looked at him across the candles. "Indeed I wouldn't bother about my hair, if I were you! A century of brushing wouldn't make it respectable."
"Why not?"
"Look at the length of it!"
"Ah, but that pleases me!"
Blake shook his head in mock seriousness. "These artists! These artists!" he murmured to himself.
Max laughed, threw the comb and brush from him into some unseen corner of the hall, and ran across the salon.
"You are very ill-mannered! I shall box your ears!"
Blake threw himself into an attitude of defence. "I'd ask nothing better!" he cried. "Come on! Just come on!"
Max, laughing and excited, took a step forward, then paused as at some arresting thought.
"Afraid? Oh, la, la! Afraid?"