her letter case to. She jumped up and half consciously – half unconsciously she drifted over to the looking glass – There stood a slim girl dressed in white – a short white serge skirt – a white silk blouse and a white leather belt drawn in tight round her tiny waist – She had a heart shaped face – wide at the brows and with a pointed chin – but not too pointed —— Her eyes – her eyes were perhaps her best feature – such a strange uncommon colour too, greeny blue with little gold spots in them. She had fine black eyebrows and long black lashes – so long that when they lay on her cheek they positively caught the light some one or other had told her – Her mouth was rather large – too large? No, not really. Her underlip protruded a little. She had a way of sucking it in that somebody else had told her was awfully fascinating. Her nose was her least satisfactory feature – Not that it was really ugly – but it wasn’t half as fine as Linda’s. Linda really had a perfect little nose. Hers spread rather – not badly – and in all probability she exaggerated the spreadness of it just because it was her nose and she was so awfully critical of herself. She pinched it with her thumb and second finger and made a little face – Lovely long hair. And such a mass of it. It was the colour of fresh fallen leaves – brown and red, with a glint of yellow. Almost it seemed to have a life of its own – it was so warm and there was such a deep ripple in it. When she plaited it in one thick plait it hung on her back just like a long snake – she loved to feel the weight of it drag her head back – she loved to feel it loose covering her bare arms. It had been a fashion among the girls at Miss Beard’s to brush Beryl’s hair. “Do do let me brush your hair darling Beryl,” but nobody brushed it as beautifully as Nan Fry. Beryl would sit in front of the dressing table in her cubicle – wearing a white linen wrapper – and behind her stood Nannie in a dark red woolen gown buttoned up to her chin – Two candles gave a pointing, flickering light – Her hair streamed over the chair back – she shook it out – she yielded it up to Nannie’s adoring hands. In the glass Nannie’s face above the dark gown was like a round sleeping mask. Slowly she brushed, with long caressing strokes – her hand and the brush were like one thing upon the warm hair. She would say with a kind of moaning passion, laying down the brush and looping the hair in her hands – “it’s more beautiful than ever B. It really is lovelier than last time” – and now she would brush again – she seemed to send herself to sleep with the movement and the gentle sound – she had something of the look of a blind cat – as though it were she who was being stroked and not Beryl – But nearly always these brushings came to an unpleasant ending. Nannie did something silly. Quite suddenly she would snatch up Beryl’s hair and bury her face in it and kiss it, or clasp her hands round Beryl’s head and press Beryl’s head back against her firm breast sobbing – “you are so beautiful. You don’t know how beautiful you are beautiful beautiful.” And at these moments Beryl had such a feeling of horror such a violent thrill of physical dislike for Nan Fry –” That’s enough – that’s quite enough. Thank you. You’ve brushed it beautifully. Good night Nan.” She didn’t even try to suppress a contempt and her disgust – And the curious thing was that Nan Fry seemed rather to understand this – even to expect it, never protesting but stumbling away out of the cubicle – and perhaps whispering “forgive me ” at the door – And the more curious thing was that Beryl let her brush her hair again – and let this happen again, – and again there was this “silly scene” between them always ending in the same way more or less, and never never referred to in the daytime. But she did brush hair so beautifully. Was her hair less
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