"My clothes!" he began to gasp.
"Yes. Go and get them, please. But make no noise, for the love of
Christ."
Vincent tip-toed back. He returned, after a time of dreadful rummaging in the dark, with a bundle.
"I have brought what I could find. They are all there. I could not bring what I put on every day, for many reasons. These are the best I have. How will you—can you—? They are not easy to put on, I think, for a girl."
Poor Vincent! Isoult had no time nor heed for the modesty proper to lovers.
"I will manage," she said. "Turn round, please."
Vincent did as he was bid. He even shut his eyes. Presently Isoult spoke again.
"Could you find me a pair of scissors, Vincent?" She had been quick to learn that beauty must be obeyed. She would have asked Vincent for the moon if she had happened to want it, and would have seen him depart on the errand without qualm. Sure enough, he brought the scissors before her held-out hand had grown tired.
"Cut off my hair," she said, "level with my shoulders."
"Your hair!" cried the poor lad. "Oh, Isoult, I dare not."