“You shall never again set up such a masquerade when there is nothing the matter with you, Cornelli,” said the cousin scoldingly. “Why do you put this shawl around your head? Are you trying to look like an untidy gypsy? Don’t ever come to table that way again! Betty, have you ever seen the like? Can you understand this behavior from a sensible child?”
The friend just shook her head.
“Perhaps Cornelli does it because she does not know what else to do. She does not seem to desire a proper occupation,” she replied.
When Cornelli came down to breakfast next day, she had taken off the shawl, but she still looked very odd.
“You look exactly like a savage from New Zealand,” said the cousin. “Do you think you are improving your appearance by plastering your hair all over your face?”
“No,” said Cornelli fiercely.
“Neither do I,” said the cousin. “I cannot make you out at all. What will you put on next, I wonder, when your hair is brushed away?”
“My fur cap,” replied Cornelli, according to the truth.
“I never heard such nonsense,” exclaimed Miss Dorner. “I really think that the child is capable of doing that. She will probably pull it down over her head to her nose when the temperature is eighty. I have never seen such a child. What shall I do with her?”
Cornelli really looked as if she did not know how well brought up European girls usually wore their hair. From the middle of her head thick uneven strands of dark hair hung down over her forehead and deep into her eyes. The hair was not hanging loose, but was firmly glued to her skin. Her intention seemed to be to keep it there to prevent it from being blown away.