“No?” said Mrs Isaacson, and looked thoughtful.
Millie was running her fingers through the masses of her red-brown hair, loosening it and lifting it from her head.
“It is a relief,” she remarked. “My head gets so hot.”
“Ah!” said Mrs Isaacson, “and what beautiful hair! It does not seem right to hide it. I haf a comb in my bag. It is almost all I haf left. Let me now comb your beautiful hair for you.”
“Oh! don’t you bother,” said Millie sheepishly, but she allowed herself to be persuaded. “Don’t lose the hair-pins,” she warned her newly-found lady’s maid.
“It seems so funny out here in the open road,” giggled Millie.
Mrs Isaacson’s praise was fulsome.
Blanche watched without comment. Mrs Gosling was plunged in meditation. She was involved in an immense problem relating to the housekeeping at Wisteria Grove. She was debating whether the lace curtains at the front windows could be washed at home when they went back.
Suddenly the attention of the three younger women was caught by unnatural sounds that came from the further side of the wall against which they were leaning—sounds of voices, laughing and singing, the crunch of wheels and the stamping of horses.
The two girls jumped to their feet. Mrs Isaacson rose more deliberately, with a grunt of expostulation. Mrs Gosling was in a world far removed and continued to debate her problem.