“Molly Rowe, your hair isn’t red, and you know it! It is the most heavenly auburn!”
“Well, then, play it’s auburn. Yellow won’t go with auburn either.”
Pauline knitted her black eyebrows.
“I have it, Molly. Pug up your tawny mane, and cover it with a Chinese handkerchief, or a turban. Oh, I’ll manage it.”
“You bright creature!”
“You must wear a yellow mask, Molly, and a yellow dress with broad black stripes, and”—
“And you must blossom out in lilac, Pauline, or the babiest kind of baby blue.”
“I might be a shepherdess, Molly, and you could be a Spanish girl.”
“Only you and I are to walk together,” mused Molly. “Do you think it seems quite the thing for a Spanish girl to walk arm-in-arm with a shepherdess?”
“Why not, you stuck-up señorita?”