"Oo-er, May, I wish I hadn't done it now. It's going whiter all the time. Look at it. Oh, what unnatural stuff. It can't go lighter than white, can it?" Mrs. Raeburn, in the act of pouring out tea, held the pot suspended, and, shaking with laughter, looked at her daughter. Charlie, too, happened to be at home. "Good gracious alive!" cried the mother. "I thought I'd see how it looked," Jenny explained, with apologetic notes in her voice. "You'll think your head right off next time," said Charlie profoundly. Jenny was seized with an idea. "I had to do it for the theater. At least, I thought--oh, well--_don't_ all stare as if you'd never seen a girl with fair hair. You'll get used to it." "I sha'n't," said Charlie hopelessly. "I shouldn't never get used to that, not if I lived till I was a hundred. Not if I never died at all." "Depend upon it," said Mrs. Raeburn, "her Aunt Mabel will come and see us this very day and ask what I've been doing." "What about it?" said Jenny defiantly. "Who's she? Surely I can do what I like with my own hair without asking _her_." "Now, what 'ud you say if I went and dyed my hair?" asked Charlie, "and come down with it the color of an acid drop. That's what I'd like to know." A silence of pent-up laughter held the breakfast party, while, under the mirthful glances of her mother and sister, Jenny began to regret the change. At last she volunteered: "Oh, well, it's done now." "Done in, I should say," corrected Charlie. It was a gusty morning of clouds in early June, and the Hagworth Street kitchen was dark. The sun, however, streamed in for a moment in the wake of Charlie's correction, and Jenny's new hair was lighted up. "Why, it's worse than I thought," said Mrs. Raeburn. "You look like a funny turn." "It looks like that ginger-beer we had on Whit-Monday," said her father. "Oh, who cares?" cried Jenny, flouncing upstairs out of the room. When she came down again, she was dressed to go out. "You're never going out in broad daylight?" asked May. "Let her go," said Mrs. Raeburn. "Her hat covers it up a _bit_. I only hope if we have company, she'll have the goodness to keep her hat on all the time." "Oh, yes, that would be a game of mine. I don't think!" protested Jenny. The latter's belief in herself was restored by the attitude of the dressing-room. The girls all vowed the change improved her. There was an epidemic of peroxide, and Irene actually tarnished her own rich copper with the dye, so that for a while her hair seemed streaked with verdigris. Moreover, the unnatural fairness wore off as the weeks went by, and at last even the family was compelled to admit that she had not made a mistake. Only Alfie remained unconvinced, declaring she deserved a hiding for messing herself about. As for the suitors, they ran faster than before, but never swiftly enough to catch Jenny. "I'm bound to get off with a nice young chap, now," she told the girls. "I wish I could fall in love."