Raymond went on fanning her hair.
"Curly hair's messy looking," he observed after a considerable pause
during which, evidently, his thoughts had remained centred on this
pleasing theme.
And then, all of a sudden, Missy found herself saying an
inexplicable, unheard-of thing:
"You can have a lock-if you want to."
She glanced up, and then quickly down. And she felt herself blushing
again; she didn't exactly like to blush--yet--yet--
"Do I want it?"
Already Raymond had dropped his improvised fan and was fumbling for
his knife.
"Where?" he asked.
Missy shivered deliciously at the imminence of that bright steel
blade; what if he should let it slip?--but, just then, even
mutilation, provided it be at Raymond's hand, didn't seem too
terrible.
"Wherever you want," she murmured.
"All right--I'll take a snip here where it twines round your ear--it
looks so sort of affectionate."
She giggled with him. Of course it was all terribly silly--and yet--
Then there followed a palpitant moment while she held her breath and
shut her eyes. A derisive shout caused her to open them quickly.
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