Having conceived the plan, she began to hate her present appearance, to ascribe to her present shade all the boredom that was clinging round her like a fog. Her own hair, paradoxically enough, came to be considered an unnatural color. After all, she was really fair, and had been cheated of her natural hue merely by the freak of time. It was not as if she were truly dark. She could herself remember the glories of her complexion before they paled in the gloomy airs of the Orient. For a moment, however, the birth of artifice dismayed her. She wondered if, in addition to going fair, she would also go magenta, like some of the girls who always made up. Again the phantom of age laughed over her shoulder; but the contemplation of futurity was fleeting, and she decided that if she was going fair, the sooner she went the better it would be; if she waited till thirty the world might laugh with reason. She would chance it. Jenny appropriated a bottle of the management's peroxide that very night, and excited by the prospect of entertainment, came home immediately after the performance, alarming Mrs. Raeburn so much by her arrival that the latter exclaimed: "You _are_ early. Is anything the matter?" "Anything the matter? Whatever should be the matter?" "Well, it's only a quarter to twelve." "Who cares?" "Don't say that to me." "I shall say _what_ I like, and I'm going to bed." May, however, was wide awake when Jenny reached their room; so the deed had to be postponed. May, elated by her sister's unaccustomed earliness, chattered profusely, and it was two o'clock in the morning before she fell asleep. Then Jenny crept out of bed and by the faintest glimmer of gaslight achieved the transformation. She woke up in the morning to May's cries of disgust. "Oh, you sight! Whatever have you done?" "_Don't_ make such a shocking noise. I've gone fair." "Gone fair!" exclaimed her sister. "Gone white, you mean. Get up and look at yourself. You look terrible." "What do you mean?" asked Jenny. "Here, give me hold of the hand-glass." Her reflection upset her. She must have put on too much in the uncertain light. "It's like milk," cried May. "Don't annoy me." "Oh, Jenny, it's awful. It's like that canary of Alfie's who died so sudden. It's shocking. What _will_ all my friends say?" "Who cares about your friends? _They're_ nobody. Besides, it'll be quite all right soon. It's bound to sink in." "What will Alfie say?" "Oh, damn Alfie!" "There's a lady. Now swear." "Well, you annoy me. It's my own hair, isn't it?" "Oh, it's your own hair right enough. Nobody else wouldn't own it." "I don't think I'll come down to breakfast this morning. Say I've got a most shocking headache, and fetch me up a cup of tea, there's a little love." "Mother'll only come up and see what's the matter, so _don't_ be silly. You've got to go downstairs some time."