“All right,” said Millie, “I’m going down. Do make haste, Miss Henderson, will you?”
“All right,” said Miriam, going back into the room.
Collecting her music she went incredulously upstairs. This was school with a vengeance. This was boarding-school. It was abominable. Fräulein Pfaff indeed! Ordering her, Miriam, to go downstairs and have her hair washed ... by Frau Krause ... off-hand, without any warning ... someone should have told her—and let her choose. Her hair was clean. Sarah had always done it. Miriam’s throat contracted. She would not go down. Frau Krause should not touch her. She reached the attics. Their door was open and there was Mademoiselle in her little alpaca dressing-jacket, towelling her head.
Her face came up, flushed and gay. Miriam was too angry to note till afterwards how pretty she had looked with her hair like that.
“Ah! ... c’est le grand lavage!” sang Mademoiselle.
“Oui,” said Miriam surlily.
What could she do? She imagined the whole school waiting downstairs to see her come down to be done. Should she go down and decline, explain to Fräulein Pfaff. She hated her vindictively—her “calm” message—“treating me like a child.” She saw the horse smile and heard the caustic voice.
“It’s sickening,” she muttered, whisking her dressing-gown from its nail and seizing a towel. Mademoiselle was piling up her damp hair before the little mirror.
Slowly Miriam made her journey to the basement.
Minna and Elsa were brushing out their long hair with their door open. A strong sweet perfume came from the room.