Though she is English by speech and birth, a serpent of old Nile was perhaps her grandmother. In the tight-lidded slant of her almond eyes, in the long slope of her brown and sharp young nose, there is a hint of passion and perversity. One of her little vanities is to vary the style of her coiffure according to the fashion of her age. At fifteen years old, Miss Jones's dark hair was close-cropped. By seventeen, as if she had passed from being a working-girl to a model of sophistication, it was worn long and put up into an elegant beehive dome on the crown of her head. A year or two more and she preferred it sleek but shorter, brushed back from the tall slope of her forehead and rounded at her nape, for all the world like a randy young temple priestess of Rameses himself. Now her taste has changed again. Her crowning glory is a short upward-brushed crop of lightly curled hair. You may be sure that it was not merely the art of the young coiffeuse which had attracted the attention of these gentlemen in the warm boulevard. Miss Jones was busy among the mute immobile effigies which displayed the creations of Paris and Rome. It was not a labour to be performed in flowing hems and starched petticoats. By no means. This aforesaid “randy little wriggler” had chosen to display herself in a costume which must have stiffened the manhood of every gentleman who passed by. She wore a white blouse which fitted a little too tight for decency. One cannot deny, of course, that it told the world of her pert little breasts, nipples erect from the friction of cotton, and a slim straight back which came down to a narrow waist. You see no great harm in that, Augustus, do you? Many a schoolgirl wears such a blouse. But few beauties of the fourth or fifth forms would dare show themselves dressed from the waist down in Miss Jones's style. The little minx had availed herself of a pair of riding-jeans, which fitted tight as on the hips and thighs of a heroine riding the range!