"Oh, poor Fisher! What ails him?"
"He has a fever, madam,—a high fever. It would break your heart to hear the poor man's teeth chatter. So I have come in his place."
"It is impossible for you to dress my hair!" gasped Esther.
"Impossible! And why, if you please?"
"Because—because—why, you cannot, you don't know how!"
"I have studied under the best masters. It is not for me to disparage Mr. Fisher; but I venture to say that my touch is more classic than his. I have worked for the French court."
"No, no!" breathed Esther with veiled eyes.
"But, my child," said her aunt in a lowered tone, "you are unreasonable. This boy appears to know his business; besides, he has worked for the French court. Moreover, time presses."
"If Miss Woodville will deign to intrust her head to my care, all will be well," added the would-be hairdresser.
Esther saw there was no help for it but to yield. Suffused with blushes and pouting, though deeply moved, she took her chair before the mirror.