Light scintillated in Blanche Aurora's eyes as she obeyed; a light which boded ill for the faded gingham.
Linda rose and placed a chair in front of her dressing-table.
"Come here and sit down," she said.
Blanche Aurora hesitated but for an instant before complying.
"What be you goin' to do?" she asked as Linda lifted the tortured braids and inspected the white string. "Goin' to cut my hair off?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I don't care. It's only a bother, anyway. I have to braid it every few days."
"Every few days? Oh, Blanche Aurora, you ought to brush it every night."
"I should worry," ejaculated the other. "Red hair don't deserve anything like that. If I didn't have red hair I wouldn't have so many freckles and I'd look nicer in the pink dress. I pinch it good when I braid it," added Blanche Aurora savagely.
"I should think you did," returned Linda, whose deft fingers were meanwhile unbraiding the hair and removing the disciplinary string. "It is kinky enough to stuff a little mattress. You have a nice lot of it. Mrs. Porter, will you hand me that box at the foot of the bed? I'm glad I remembered to get you these." And Linda opened the box, displaying a white brush and comb which she began using on the bright hair while its owner colored with excitement through all her tan at the possession of such grandeur.