Her voice caught on the crest of a sob and she was at her mother's feet, seeking out her lap, tears rushing down over her incoherence.
"I'll grow it back again for you, Lilly. I'll make it up to you, sweetheart. I didn't mean that—what I said about fathers or—or other girls—you know I didn't. I'm bad. Terrible."
In some alarm, Lilly placed her hand on the shorn head, shuddering in spite of herself as if the ends were bleeding.
"Sh-h-h, Zoe! It upset me, dear, that's all—the shock of seeing you sitting up in bed there—with it off."
"I'll make it up to you, Lilly. In so many ways. Soon. It's settled, dear, that Auchinloss is coming to America in the fall to conduct. Trieste is going to arrange my audition for September. He promised to-day I'd be ready. Think, Lilly, my audition so soon. I'll have the wig made out of my own hair, dear, for Marguerite. Don't feel badly, Lilly; the wig will look—"
"I don't any more, Zoe. It was just the shock—"
"I know it was silly, dear, but it will grow quickly and I just had that feeling to be free—you see, dear—"
"I do see, dear, I do. Zoe, look at me. Doesn't it ever come over you, on the eve of so much, dear—that perhaps you do need his—your father's guardianship—"
"Now just because I said that. I tell you I'm a devil. I didn't mean it—not one word—"
"I know you didn't. It cropped out unconsciously. You're not to blame. He's a good man, Zoe, your father, and his steady hand might do much where I—may have failed."