“Sit down, like a good girl,” said the old lady with an air of absolute indifference. “I did not mean to offend you. Sit down and be quiet. You will destroy your nervous system if you give way to such impulses. I think you are healthy. I like the look of you, but you will never reach a good age, as I hope to do, except by moderating your passions. That is well; now take the ammonia again and give it to me. You don’t wish to die young, I suppose?” “I am not afraid of dying,” said Sheila. “Ring the bell, Frank.” He did so, and a tall, spare, grave-faced woman appeared. “Paterson, you must put luncheon on at two-ten. I ordered it at one-fifty, did I not?” “Yes, m’m.” “See that it is served at two-ten, and take this young lady and get her hair properly done. You understand? My nephew and I will wait luncheon for her.” “Yes, m’m.” Sheila rose with a great swelling in her throat. All her courage had ebbed away. She had reflected how pained her husband would be if she did not please this old lady; and she was now prepared to do anything she was told, to receive meekly any remarks that might be made to her, to be quite obedient and gentle and submissive. But what was this tall and terrible woman going to do to her? Did she really mean to cut away those great masses of hair to which Mrs. Lavender had objected! Sheila would have let her hair be cut willingly for her husband’s sake; but as she went to the door some wild and despairing notions came into her head of what her husband might think of her when once she was shorn of this beautiful personal feature. Would he look at her with surprise--perhaps even with disappointment? “Mind you don’t keep luncheon late,” he said to her as she passed him. She but indistinctly heard him, so great was the trembling within her. Her father would scarcely know his altered Sheila when she went back to Borva; and what would Mairi say--Mairi who had many a time helped her to arrange those long tresses, and who was as proud of them as if they were her own? She followed Mrs. Lavender’s tall maid up-stairs. She entered a small dressing-room and glanced nervously around. Then she suddenly turned, looked for a moment at the woman, and said, with tears rushing up into her eyes: “Does Mrs. Lavender wish me to cut my hair?” The woman regarded her with astonishment. “Cut, miss?--ma’am. I beg your pardon. No, ma’am, not at all. I suppose it is only some difference in the arrangement, ma’am. Mrs. Lavender is very particular about the hair, and she has asked me to show several ladies how to dress the hair in the way she likes. But perhaps you would prefer letting it remain as it is, ma’am?” “Oh, no, not at all,” said Sheila. “I should like to have it just as Mrs. Lavender wishes--in every way just as she wishes. Only it will not be necessary to cut any?” “Oh, no, miss--ma’am; and it would be a great pity, if I may say so, to cut _your_ hair.”