Zula’s beautiful red lips curled scornfully. She could not but notice the self-esteem with which he uttered the words. But Guy could not see it. He thought they were true and he had received so much flattery that he doubted not a moment that Zula would consider his decision correct, which in fact she did accept.
Zula crushed the book tightly in her hand concealing it in her pocket, just as she looked up to see Carrie, who was coming in search of the missing pair. “Mama says come right home to tea; it is all ready.”
Carrie threw her arm around Zula’s waist, and as she did so her hand came in contact with the heavy braids of shining hair, which hung over Zula’s shoulders.
“What lovely hair you have,” Carrie said. “I never saw but one like it, and it was on the head of a handsome gypsy girl, who was here last summer.”
Zula’s eyes flashed and she closed her mouth tightly, with an inward determination to have at least half her 46 luxuriant hair cut off. Would she never cease to be reminded that she was a gypsy?
“Why, how angry you look,” said Carrie. “Don’t you like to have any one praise your hair?”
“No,” Zula answered, forcing a smile.
“Oh, you are a funny girl,” Carrie said, twining her arms around Zula’s waist in such a loving way that Zula began to cry.
“Please do not cry; I did not mean to hurt your feelings; I think your hair is so lovely that I could not help telling you so. Mama always says flattery is very silly, but really I did not mean it for that; I do think your hair is just splendid, but I will not let you know it any more.”
“Thank you,” said Zula, clasping Carrie’s little, soft white hand. “It is not you who is foolish, it is myself and I will try and behave a little better. I wish I were like you, Carrie, but I can’t be no matter how hard I try.”