“I want half-a-dozen fringe-nets for my sister Doris. She says that you know the shade.”
“And what do you want for yourself, Miss Norah?”
“Nothing, thank you. Will you please give them me as quickly as you can. I’m in a hurry.”
He put his head on one side like an owl. It was idiotic.
“Ah, Miss Norah, I am afraid that you despise my art. You are yourself so beautiful that you do not stand in need of it.”
“Are you aware what you are saying? Kindly give me those fringe-nets.”
“Yet I also am an artist. As many perfect pictures are the work of my fingers as you will find upon the walls of an Academy.”
“I never said they weren’t.”
“But, Miss Norah, you have towards me an air of aloofness. Yet I am more essential to a woman than her milliner—than her costumier. What is the most perfect toilette with an indifferent coiffure. Even beauty cannot safely scorn me. If you will do me the inestimable honour of entrusting your lovely head to me for a few brief minutes I do not think you will regret it when you perceive the result. It is true that nature has given you hair which is perfect in texture, exquisite in colour——”
“Mr Morrel, do you know what you are saying?”