Clytie looked at her amusedly. "So you're one of those persons who think dust is artistic? Come up into my workroom, then. You'll find that untidy enough."
Up-stairs they went, to the workroom.
"My!" said Fancy. "If you call this place untidy, you ought to see my room! Why, it's as neat as a pin!" She entered, nevertheless, and looked about her with curiosity at everything.
"Haven't you a looking-glass here?" she asked in astonishment.
"No, but I'll get you one."
Fancy laughed. "I couldn't live an hour without a mirror," she confessed. "You're really queer, aren't you! And you don't even wear jewelry! I'm afraid modesty isn't my favorite stunt. It's very becoming to you, though. I suppose it doesn't go with painted hair." She sighed.
"I don't believe that even you could improve on nature, Fancy!"
"I'm sure nature intended me for a blonde, and got careless. Did you ever know a brunette who didn't want to be a blonde?" She looked at Clytie's tawny hair with evident admiration.
Clytie shook her head, smiling. "I'd give you my hair for your complexion."
"Done!" Fancy rubbed her handkerchief across her pink cheeks, and handed the bit of cambric to Clytie. After this comedy pantomime, she took the little silver watch from her chatelaine pin, opened the back door, where, inside, was a bright and shiny surface, and regarded her face, pouting. Then she looked across at Clytie.