F. It is. If Jack knows anything, he ought to see a difference between that and orange plumes.
A. Ethel Mott told me— Oh, do come in a moment. I’m simply freezing to death, and I must tell you this.
F. (once more coming in and closing the door) Well, do be quick. I ought to have been home long ago.
A. Oh, you’ve lots of time.
F. But it takes so long to do my hair.
A. How are you going to wear it?
F. The same old way. I wish somebody’d invent some new style,—something real nice and becoming. I asked Uncle Calvin the other night if he hadn’t seen some pretty styles in China, and I wish you could have seen the pictures he brought out!
A. What were they like?
F. Like? They weren’t like anything. Why, I just gasped over them! Ships, and butterflies, and all sorts of things; all made out of hair, right on your own head.