"So you do."

"Well, I don't want to spoil my record. What's the Anglo-Saxon for 'a
thaw-proof nerve '?"

"Can't be done," said I. "But I can put your mouth into Italian. _Bocca
bella carissima._ Now, isn't that nice?"

The sweet pretty lips began to tremble with laughter.

"You're incorrigible," she announced. "Fifteen long months, and you
haven't changed a bit."

"Long months, Adèle?"

The soft rose of her cheeks was glowing as she turned to reply.

"The longest I've ever spent," she said softly. "That--that's the worst
of cutting your hair. I thought it was never going to grow."

"They've been very long ones for me, Adèle."

Up went the delicate eyebrows.

"Have they?"

I nodded.

"A close scrutiny will reveal that my hair, once a rich mud colour, is