Georgiana. No!
Bella. For him?
[Pointing at Coleman's photograph with her hair-brush.
Georgiana. Yes. [Drawing the picture toward her.] It was a dear letter I had from him to-night, Bella! I hope you'll have as nice a one from Mr. Gootch to-morrow morning.
Bella. Well, if I don't—
[Shutting her teeth, she unconsciously pulls Georgiana's hair.
Georgiana. Oh, oh!
Bella. Oh, I beg your pardon!
Georgiana. Don't take it out on me, wait till Mr. Gootch gets back!
Bella. [Combing.] I don't know as you're the jealous kind. Judging from your hair you ain't. It usually goes with blonde or red, or else crimpy, and what I dislike about red hair is the freckles—you can almost count on 'em! You've got sort of trusting hair. But besides, Mr. Coleman wasn't a floor walker in a shop with over a hundred lady clerks—I think that's apt to make a gentleman flightier; and he being bald, has me to a disadvantage, so to speak. I can't judge by my customary signs.