“Do you think I will suffer much?” she inquired of the nurse tremulously.
“Oh, no, indeed,” replied that functionary, with professional cheerfulness, plaiting away at the endless lengths of hair. “If I was you, I’d have about half of this cut off.”
Mrs. Prince looked at the long, heavy plaits, then up at the nurse, her gray eyes darkening.
“If you cannot take care of it,” she said quietly, “I will tell the superintendent to send me another woman.”
The nurse colored.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said awkwardly.
When the toilet of the condemned was completed Mr. Prince came in with a huge handful of roses, smiling genially as his eyes fell on his wife.
“Why, P’tite, you look like John Chinaman in that funny shirt.”
She smiled in return, but wanly.