He came back to her.
'Your hair's coming down,' he remarked.
'I'm sorry,' she said.

'But at the back it generally is.' 'Don't move--let me do it.' Pretending to arrange it, he took all the hairpins out, and the cloud of dark red hair fell down on her shoulders.
'I like your hair, Mavis.' * * * * * 'It seems too awful I should have been with you such a long time this afternoon,' she exclaimed.
'It _isn't_ long.' 'And sometimes it seems so dreadful to think I can't be with you always.' 'Yes, doesn't it?
Mavis dear, will you do up your hair and come out to dinner ?' 'Vincy dear, I think I'd better not, because of Aunt Jessie.' 'Oh, very well; all right.

Then you will another time ?' 'Oh, you don't want me to stay ?' 'Yes, I do; do stay.' 'No, next time--next Tuesday.' 'Very well, very well.' He took a dark red carnation out of one of the vases and pinned it on to her coat.
'The next time I see you,' she said, 'I want to have a long, _long_ talk.' 'Oh yes; we must, mustn't we ?' He took her downstairs, put her into a cab.

It was half-past six.
He felt something false, worrying, unreliable and incalculable in Mavis.

She didn't seem real....