“And a knot behind.”
“And a band along the forehead?”
“Gems, if they meet your favour.”
“But my cheek-bones, Louisa?”
“They are not too prominent, Carry.”
“Curls relieve them.”
“The change will relieve the curls, dear one.”
Caroline looked in the glass, at the Countess, as polished a reflector, and fell into a chair. Her hair was accustomed to roll across her shoulders in heavy curls. The Duke would find a change of the sort singular. She should not at all know herself with her hair done differently: and for a lovely woman to be transformed to a fright is hard to bear in solitude, or in imagination.
“Really!” she petitioned.
“Really—yes, or no?” added the Countess.