It was short, fine, and thick; massy, Mr. Haggard called it. Then she took a pair of scissors and began to snip. Flakes of gold fell on the floor and strewed her feet. She stood as on a threshing-floor.
As she worked, the boards of the loft sounded to the tramp of a heavy visitor.
Somebody knocked at the door. There came to the girl's eyes a look of amused defiance.
"Come in," she said, turning.
Mrs. Woodburn stood in the door, grieved and grim. She saw her daughter's face framed in thickets of gold, and the splendid ruin on the floor.
Boy crossed to her mother and closed the door quietly behind her. Then she led her mother to the bed, and sat down beside her.
The old lady was breathing deeply, and not from the effort of the climb.
The daughter's eyes, full of a tender curiosity, teasing and yet compassionate, searched her mother's face, in which there was no laughter.
"Are you going to, Boy?" asked the old lady.
"D'you want me not?"