I laughed.
“Oh, my dear,” I answered, “you are not going to induce me to adopt a fringe. That would be quite the last come-down to my pride. I have not got wavy, fuzzy hair like you, Hetty, and I am not beautiful, so nothing can make me look it.”
“But your face is very beautiful to me,” said Hetty, looking at me with a great glow of love beaming over hers. “It is full of strength, and I think you have such a sweet expression, Rose, and you look so dignified. Sometimes I think you are grand.”
“Oh, hush, hush, you foolish child!” I said.
“Well, but do fasten that little pink bow at your throat, and do puff up your hair a little, to show your nice forehead. Now isn’t that a great improvement?”
She made me kneel by her while she tried to manipulate my heavy, thick, straight hair. My private opinion is that I never looked more uncouth, but Hetty was pleased, so where was the use of worrying her?
I heard a carriage stop in the street below, and flew to the window to look out.
“They arrive,” I said, “my foes arrive! Now I go forth to conquer! Farewell, Hetty.”
“Oh, I shall be so excited to know what is going to happen!” called Hetty after me.
I blew a kiss to her and ran down-stairs. I had arranged with Mrs Ashton to give me the use of a private sitting-room for the all-important interview. It was a truly dingy apartment—a back parlour in every sense of that odious-sounding word. It was here I had for the first time the pleasure of seeing Lady Ursula Redmayne without any rose-coloured glamour thrown over her. Unsupported by the background which her luxurious boudoir in Grosvenor Street afforded, she looked what she was, a most ordinary young woman.