“You look so flushed—I thought you might have a headache.”
A headache—ah! valuable antique feminine excuse for everything! “Yes—perhaps I have, a little.”
“Poor darling! Everybody did seem to be talking at once at dinner, and Uncle Albert is such a fog-horn, enough to go through anybody’s head. Let me brush your hair for you, will you?”
I had to let her.
“It’ll be better with all these pins and clips out,” said Blanche, unfastening and shaking loose. “Goodness, what lots you’ve got! It’s like yards and yards of black skein-silk. And how lovely and soft.”
And here, in the looking-glass, I saw the girl’s face, blonde and clear-featured as her brother’s, pressed for a moment to the ripple of dark hair above my ear.
It must have looked something like that just now to those two other men in the den....
Then I saw my own face turn scarlet.
Blanche Waters saw that too.