To the distance, rainbow-spanned.
And the road we tread upon
Is the track to Fairyland.
—V. J. Daley.
JEAN, can you button me up?”
“Half a minute till I get this ribbon tied,” said the lady addressed, wrestling urgently with an obstinate bow. “There—that’s got to do! Turn round, old girl—I can’t see. There you are.”
“Thanks,” said Norah, shaking out her skirt. “Is my hair decent?”
“Yes, it’s all right. Curly-haired people like you always look right.”
“Wish I thought so,” said the owner of the curls. “Dreadful mop, I think. Will I do, Jean?”
“Do?” said Jean, in some bewilderment. “Why, of course—you look all right. Why are you worrying?”