“What's the matter with it?” asked Zoie. Her reflection betrayed a coiffure that might have turned Marie Antoinette green with envy.
“Would anybody think you'd been in bed for days?” asked Aggie.
“Alfred likes it that way,” was Zoie's defence.
“Turn around,” said Aggie, without deigning to argue the matter further. And she began to remove handfuls of hairpins from the yellow knotted curls.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Zoie, as she sprayed her white neck and arms with her favourite perfume.
Aggie did not answer.
Zoie leaned forward toward the mirror to smooth out her eyebrows with the tips of her perfumed fingers. “Good gracious,” she cried in horror as she caught sight of her reflection. “You're not going to put my hair in a pigtail!”
“That's the way invalids always have their hair,” was Aggie's laconic reply, and she continued to plait the obstinate curls.
“I won't have it like that!” declared Zoie, and she shook herself free from Aggie's unwelcome attentions and proceeded to unplait the hateful pigtail. “Alfred would leave me.”
Aggie shrugged her shoulders.