Nan patted her sleek slightly Japanese-looking hair. “_Ah_ ... splashes of scarlet, my dear. Splashes of scarlet. One in my hair and one here.” She patted the broad level of her enviable breast towards the left shoulder. “Almost _on_ the shoulder, you know--arranged flat, _can’t_ be squashed and showing as you dance.” “Geraniums! Oom. You’ve got awfully good taste. What a frightfully good effect. Bright red and bright white. Clean. Go on, Nan.” “_Killing_,” pursued Nan. “Tom said at breakfast with his mouth absolutely _full_ of sweet-bread, ‘it’ll rain’--growled, you know, with his mouth _crammed_ full. ‘Never mind, Tommy,’ said Ella with the _utmost_ promptitude, ‘they’re sure to have the alcoves.’ ‘Oomph,’ growled Tommy, pretending not to care. _Naughty_ Tommy, naughty, _naughty_ Tommy!” “Any cake left?” sighed Miriam, sinking back amongst her petals and hoping that Nan’s voice would go on. “You girls are the most adorable individuals I ever met.... Did anybody see Pearlie going home this afternoon?” Everyone chuckled and waited. “My _dears_! My _dears_!! Bevan _dragged_ me along to the end of the pavilion to see him enter up the handicaps with his new automatic pen--_awfully_ smashing--and I was just hobbling the last few yards past the apple trees when we _saw_ Pearlie hand-in-hand with the Botterford boys, prancing along the asphalt court--_prancing_, my dears!” Miriam and Harriett dragged themselves up to see. Nan bridled and swayed from listener to listener, her wide throat gleaming as she sang out her words. “Prancing--with straggles of grey hair sticking out and that _tiny_ sailor hat cocked _almost_ on to her nose. My dear, you sh’d’ve _seen_ Bevan! He put up his eyeglass, my dears, for a _fraction_ of a second,” Nan’s head went up--“Madame Pompadour,” thought Miriam--and her slanting eyes glanced down her nose, “and dropped it, clickety-click. You sh’d’ve _seen_ the expression on his angelic countenance.” “I say, she _is_ an awful little creature, isn’t she?” said Miriam, watching Eve bend a crimson face over the tea-tray on the hearthrug. “She put her boots on the pavilion table this afternoon when all those men were there--about a mile high they are--with tassels. Why _does_ she go on like that?” “Men like that sort of thing,” said Sarah lightly. “Sally!” “They do.... I believe she drinks.” “Sally! My _dear_!” “I believe she _does_. She’s always having shandygaff with the men.” “Oh, well, perhaps she doesn’t,” murmured Eve. “Chuck me a lump of sugar, Eve.” Miriam subsided once more amongst the rose petals. “Bevvy thinks I oughtn’t to dance.” “Did he say so?” “Of course, my dear. But old Wyman said I could, every third, except the Lancers.” “You sh’d’ve seen Bevvy’s face. ‘Brother Tommy doesn’t object,’ I said. ‘He’s going to look after me!’ ‘_Is_ he?’ said Bevvy in his _most_ superior manner.” “What a fearful scrunching you’re making,” said Harriett, pinching Miriam’s nose.