“Never mind,” replied Gwendoline; “all may yet be well. Why, you have grown almost pretty again; and your hair is now quite as bright as ever. See! it is just the color of mine, but it does not curl or wave.”
“Only when I crimp it,” laughed the maid.
“Ah! there, that’s right! I love to see you merry. Now, go. I can finish. I am sure mamma wants you,” and Miss Gwinn gathered up her tresses as the girl quitted the room.
“She is almost as tall as I am, and might be my sister. How funny,” she added, “to have a maid like that—only she isn’t half as lazy as I! Dear, dear, how weary I am!”
With a rippling laugh, she threw herself on a sofa and put her white arms up over her head. She took them down directly, and, pushing up her sleeves, patted first one, then the other.
“Pretty good arms, pretty good arms, mon ami!”
Then, throwing them out before her, she exclaimed:
“Bon jour, Monsieur Emory—ha! ha! Now I will dress.”
CHAPTER VI.
BACKWARDS.
Sunday night, and I have three pictures to show you.