"She has ringlets in her hair," sang Margaret happily--a low,
half-hushed little song. She held up a strand of it to demonstrate
this fact.
"There's a dimple in her chin"--and, indeed, there was. And a dimple
in either cheek, too.
For a long time afterward she continued to smile at the mirror. I am
afraid Kathleen Saumarez was right. She was a vain little cat, was
Margaret.
But, barring a rearrangement of the cosmic scheme, I dare say maids
will continue to delight in their own comeliness so long as mirrors