“That is another rather remarkable thing. It’s Wilhelmina.”
“Wilhelmina!”
“Of course, there must be hundreds of girls in the world called Wilhelmina Bennett, but still it is a coincidence.”
“What colour is her hair?” demanded Eustace Hignett in a hollow voice. “Her hair! What colour is it?”
“Her hair? Now, let me see. You ask me what colour is her hair. Well, you might call it auburn ... or russet ... or you might call it Titian....”
“Never mind what I might call it. Is it red?”
“Red? Why, yes. That is a very good description of it. Now that you put it to me like that, it is red.”
“Has she a trick of grabbing at you suddenly, when she gets excited, like a kitten with a ball of wool?”
“Yes. Yes, she has.”
Eustace Hignett uttered a sharp cry.