Miss Brill had twisted up her hair and put on her Sunday dress to receive Vaughan. To harmonise with the Dickens's garden it ought to have been white muslin with flounces and a pink sash. But it was a quite long, dark blue Liberty satin, made by a smart dressmaker in the Finchley Road. It had a high collar, an Empire waist, and gathers. Her mother was delighted with it. Gladys had not been quite satisfied herself, and had tried to tie it in round the ankles with concealed string, to make it look more like a nobble skirt, as she called it. Her almost too abundant hair had been piled over a pad, which gave her the appearance of having a swollen head. Yet even so she looked lovely, rather like an old-fashioned picture in the Academy of _I'se Gan'ma_, or something of the kind, suggesting a baby disguised as a grown-up-person. Vaughan went through the usual ritual of asking after Mrs. Brill--he rather hurried Mr. Brill over his remark about the finest woman one would see in a day's march--then admired the weather, ordered tea, and asked for Miss Brill. Gladys came and sat down with a rather shy, self-conscious air. She soon lost it, however, and began to get natural again. "Oh, Mr. Vaughan! I _never_ was more surprised than I was at that piece in the paper! And mother come over quite queer, she was so surprised. You were kind in your letter to forgive me for being rude. Who'd ever have thought you was clever?" "Who, indeed! But, Gladys, why this get-up? Why are you dressed up in satin and dark colours on a summer day?" "Why, mother said a nice navy blue was always useful. I'd rather have had a Cambridge blue myself. Mother says navy blue's so ladylike. Don't you like it?" "Charming. But I don't like what you've done to your hair." "Don't you, though? Fancy! Well, I don't seem to care much for it myself. It's a Pompadour, you know--a pad." "Take it off," said Vaughan. "Oh, I can't!" "All right, _I_ will. Come in the field." "Well, I don't mind if you do. I'll say I took my hair down because it was heavy." "You've tried to spoil yourself, but you haven't succeeded. Why did you do it, Gladys?" "Seeing you was clever, I thought pr'aps I'd better try to look more grown-up." "Ah! what a mistake! Your great charm is that you're such a regular J.F." "What's that?" "A _jeune fille_." "What does that mean? What's a J.F. in English?" "A jolly flapper." "Oh, I say!" * * * * * In the field Vaughan, with several interruptions and reproaches for being a caution, managed to take the pad off her head and to throw it in the field. But an unfortunate thing happened. All the corn-coloured hair fell down over his face and he had kissed her--by accident--before he knew it.