Octavia sprang from her seat, and ran to the pier-glass over the mantle. She glanced at the reflection of her own startled, pretty face, and then, putting her hand up to the soft blonde "bang" which met her brows, turned to Lucia.
"Isn't it becoming?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh, yes!" Lucia answered. "Very."
Octavia started.
"Then, why wouldn't you wear it?" she cried. "What do you mean?"
Lucia felt her position truly a delicate one. She locked her hands, and braced herself; but she blushed vividly.
"It may sound rather silly when I tell you why, Octavia," she said; "but I really do think it is a sort of reason. You know, in those absurd pictures of actresses, bangs always seem to be the principal feature. I saw some in the shop-windows when I went to Harriford with grandmamma. And they were such dreadful women,—some of them,—and had so very few clothes on, that I can't help thinking I shouldn't like to look like them, and"—
"Does it make me look like them?"
"Oh, very little!" answered Lucia; "very little indeed, of course; but"—
"But it's the same thing after all," put in Octavia. "That's what you mean."