"I'm not touching your hair, child," impatiently replied the elder woman. "It's got caught in one of my rings!"
Leonie's eyes were almost closed in a strange kind of psychological agony; then just as though she acted unconsciously she seized her aunt's hands and pulled them quickly from her head, tearing out the hair entangled in the ring by the roots.
"I can't stand it, Auntie. I have never been able to bear anyone touching my head," she said very quietly.
"I think you're insane at times, Leonie, really I do!"
The terrible words were out, and for one long moment the two women stared into each other's eyes.
"You think I am insane at times," whispered Leonie. "You—Auntie, you think I am insane!"
And the elder woman, floundering in dismay at the awful effect of her unconsidered words, sank to her neck in a bog of explanation.
"No! Leonie—no, of course not—I wasn't thinking—of course you're not mad—insane I mean. What an idea! only I am worried about you, you know that, don't you, dear! Do be sensible, dear. Of course your brain is not quite normal. It can't be with all that sleep-walking, can it, and all your abnormally brilliant exams!"
Susan Hetth's disjointed remarks sounded like the clatter of a pair of runaway mules, while Leonie clasped her hands tight as she sat crouched on her stool.
"Of course people will talk, you know, dear! They did when you were quite a baby and began walking in your sleep. And they did, you know, at school after that unfortunate child nearly got strangled by her sheets—I always do think that school fare is most indigestible—and so likely to cause blemishes on the skin!"