"We're companions in misfortune!" ventured Gwen, but Netta took not the very slightest notice.
"Oh, very well, madam; if you're going to cut me I'll cut you!" thought Gwen, and she turned to the window again.
There was no mistress in the room, and Gwen knew that for the next hour she could practically do as she liked. She would begin her preparation soon and finish some of it before she went home, but there was no particular hurry. The window commanded a view of a side street and just a peep into the main street, and it amused her at present to stand watching the passers-by. They were not remarkably enthralling—an old gentleman in a Bath chair, a nursemaid wheeling two babies in a perambulator, a baker's boy, a young woman with a large parcel, a vendor of boot laces, and a man delivering circulars. Gwen looked at them with languid attention, drumming her fingers idly on the window sill; then quite suddenly an expression of keen interest flashed across her face and she leaned out over the protecting iron bars.
"Dick!" she called loudly and impulsively, "Dick!"
The boy on the pavement below stopped and gazed up.
"Hello! Why, Gwen, by all that's wonderful!"
"What are you doing in Stedburgh, Dick?"
"Come in to have my hair cut, Miss Inquisitive, if you must know!"
"Oh, what a shame! I like it curly best. Have you had it done?"
"The fatal operation has been performed," said Dick, uncovering his closely-cropped head for a moment.