"Not those who know you."
"Oh, yes, I think so. I can imitate Ferdy exactly. I shall have to, if I want to deceive Zara Dumps."
"The hussy" said Mrs. Rebson, vigorously; then, with a cracked scream, "Miss Clarice, what are you doing to your hair?"
"Cutting it off," said Clarice, snipping vigorously. "I can't expect to masquerade successfully with a woman's hair."
"Oh, Miss Clarry, Miss Clarry, your lovely hair," wept Mrs. Rebson, and but that Ferdy's life--as she thought--depended upon the assumption of Ferdy's personality, she would then and there have refused to join in, what seemed to her, to be a mad, fantastic scheme.
"What's the use of going on in this way?" asked Clarice, angrily. "Perhaps I am acting foolishly, but it's the only chance that I can see of saving Ferdy from his enemies. Come, Nanny, cut my hair, and trim it--not too short."
Mrs. Rebson, with the tears streaming down her wrinkled face, manipulated the scissors. "What will the captain say?"
"Nothing," retorted Clarice, "when I tell him my reason. Anthony has every confidence in me. I dare say he'll be shocked, but I can't help that. There "--she surveyed her cropped head in the glass, and was surprised to see how remarkably she resembled Ferdy--"no one will ever guess that I am not my brother."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Rebson, pointedly, "you may deceive a man, but you'll never get a woman to believe in you."
"I'll try, at all events," said Clarice, thinking of Zara. "Come, Nanny, help me to dress."