When she removed the absurd hat and jacket she put off the parlormaid for good. In her simple dress she was her own exquisite little self. Bessie, in the presence of one even surer of herself than Bessie was, became a little uneasy, and it was Amy's turn then to put Bessie at her ease. As for Greg he could not look at her enough. It was the first time he had seen her glorious hair uncovered. It was the color of bright copper, of a certain glowing variety of chrysanthemum, of a horse chestnut fresh out of its burr. It was the sort of hair, full of light, that does itself; any old twist creates the effect of a coiffure.
Greg gazed in a sort of delighted despair. He thought: "She is ever so much more charming than I supposed. She's a new woman every five minutes; a dozen women in one! What man could ever hope to tie her down. She would always elude him like a pixie. She's too charming; a man would have no chance against her. God help the man that she enslaves; she'll keep him jumping through hoops!"
Meanwhile Bessie and Amy were doing the polite.
"It's an honor to welcome you to my poor home, Miss de Soak-oater," said the former grandly.
"Miss Wilmot," corrected Amy.
Bessie looked surprised. "But Mr. Parr said——"
"I know, that's part of my story. I'll tell you directly. What a charming room you have, Mrs. Bickle. So cozy and characteristic!"
After that Bessie was hers. "Well, I aim to keep one nice room," she said complacently, "though I live in a street where niceness is hardly looked for."
"What must you think of me appearing from nowhere?" said Amy.
"Mr. Parr has told me about you. It is a strange story."