"Do you tell me that Patrine has bleached her splendid hair and stained it with one of those vile dyes that are based on aniline—or Egyptian henna at the best?"
Mildred retorted acidly:
"It was a very expensive process.... Five hundred francs—but I understand that Lady Beauvayse was so good as to insist on paying Wiber's charges herself."
Saxham answered brusquely:
"I would have given ten times the money to know my niece's hair unspoiled. Whoever paid, the process will prove an expensive one to Patrine when she finds herself excruciated by headaches, or when the colour changes—as it will by-and-by!"
Mildred shrugged:
"She can have it re-dipped, surely? Or let it return to its original black!"
"There are many chemical arguments against human hair so altered returning to its original colour," came from Saxham grimly. "As these women who have made coiffures of orange, pink, crimson, blue and green, fashionable, had previously found to their cost. Do you not realise that from mishaps of this kind resulted the chromatically tinted heads one sees at public functions? Bizarre and strange in the electric lights, hideous in the sun."
"Ha, ha, ha!" Mildred's laugh rattled about the Doctor's ears like a shower of walnuts. "I shall certainly bring Patrine to call upon you, if her hair happens to turn peacock-green or pinky-crimson. I would not miss seeing your face for all the world! But seriously, my dear Owen, when a girl is as handsome as my girl and has no dot to back her, she must make herself attractive and desirable to eligible men."
"By trying to make herself look like a Parisian cocotte, she renders herself neither attractive nor desirable—to the kind of man whom I should like to see married to my niece. The cleanly kind of man, with wholesome tastes, a sound constitution, and an upright character."