They lunched somewhere--neither of them could ever remember where--on
very tough cold ham and insufficiently cooled beer, but they were both
too happy to mind, or even to observe the faults of the _menu_. And as
neither of them had ever before set eyes on the Heath, it was full of
surprises, as well as of beauties. Yielding to some unexplained
instinct, they both took off their hats (what is it that induces people
to uncover their heads in high places?), and the warm sun shone down on
their hair.
"Your hair must be very long, Brigitte?" observed Joyselle once, as he
looked at her silky plaits that covered her crown in disregard of the
laws of fashion.
"It is. Comes to my knees. Oh, look!"
Two people, a man and a girl, sat in the shade of an isolated tree only
a few yards below the place where they stood. They were evidently
enjoying an unlawful holiday, for they were workers--factory hands,
probably, and they were as palpably rejoicing in their freedom.
The girl, whose brilliant red hair was pulled out at the sides until her
head was as big as a bushel basket, wore a pink blouse and a green
skirt. The youth, stunted and pale, was gorgeous only as to tie, but
quite evidently she considered him her complement.
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