Perhaps when he saw how lovely she looked with a face that was no longer brown but purest white "with the soft sheen of a butterfly's wing" he would be glad she was so much improved.
Jane-Anne knelt down and said her prayers and added at the end the following petition:
"And please, dear Lord, let him admire me very much when I'm all over 'Magnolia Bloom.'"
Mrs. Dew came to take away the candle, but the room was quite light, for a big yellow moon was shining straight in.
Now was the moment when Jane-Anne usually arose and walked in beauty, repeating the poem the while.
Instead, she lay quite still. She felt she had no right to that poem; Lord Byron had not written it for her.
Why did she feel so certain that he, too, would have disapproved of the "Magnolia Bloom"?
Jane-Anne cried herself to sleep.
* * * * *
Next day she went to the largest hairdresser's in Oxford, and presented herself timidly at a counter laden with all sorts of pots and boxes and bottles.