“What have you done to yourself to make you look so queer? Oh, I see what it is! It's your hair. Maria, dear, what have you strained it off your forehead in that way for? It makes you look—why—”
Then Maria lied. “My hair has been growing farther and farther off my forehead lately,” said she, “and I thought possibly the reason was because I covered it. I thought if I brushed my hair back it would be better for it. Then, too, my head has ached some, and it seemed to me the pain in my forehead would be better if I kept it cooler.”
“But, Maria,” said Evelyn, “you don't look so pretty. You don't, dear, honest. I hate to say so, but you don't.”
“Well I am afraid the pretty part of it will have to go,” said Maria, going towards the door.
“Oh, Maria, please pull your hair over your forehead just a little.”
“No, dear, I have it all fixed for the day, and it must stay as it is.”
Evelyn followed Maria down-stairs. She had a puzzled expression. Maria's hair was diverting her from her own troubles. She could not understand why any girl should deliberately make herself homely. She felt worried. It even occurred to wonder if anything could be the matter with Maria's mind.
When the two girls went into the little dining-room, where breakfast was ready for them, Aunt Maria began to say something about the weather, then she cut herself short when she saw Maria.
“Maria Edgham,” said she, “what on earth—”
Maria took her place at the table. “Those gems look delicious,” she observed. But Aunt Maria was not to be diverted.