Twenty minutes later the barber swung her round to face the mirror, and she flinched at the full extent of the damage that had been wrought. Her hair was not curls and now it lay in lank lifeless blocks on both sides of her suddenly pale face. It was ugly as sin--she had known it would be ugly as sin. Her face's chief charm had been a Madonna-like simplicity. Now that was gone and she was--well frightfully mediocre--not stagy; only ridiculous, like a Greenwich Villager who had left her spectacles at home. As she climbed down from the chair she tried to smile--failed miserably. She saw two of the girls exchange glances; noticed Marjorie's mouth curved in attenuated mockery--and that Warren's eyes were suddenly very cold. "You see,"--her words fell into an awkward pause--"I've done it." "Yes, you've--done it," admitted Warren. "Do you like it?" There was a half-hearted "Sure" from two or three voices, another awkward pause, and then Marjorie turned swiftly and with serpentlike intensity to Warren. "Would you mind running me down to the cleaners?" she asked. "I've simply got to get a dress there before supper. Roberta's driving right home and she can take the others." Warren stared abstractedly at some infinite speck out the window. Then for an instant his eyes rested coldly on Bernice before they turned to Marjorie. "Be glad to," he said slowly. VI Bernice did not fully realize the outrageous trap that had been set for her until she met her aunt's amazed glance just before dinner. "Why Bernice!" "I've bobbed it, Aunt Josephine." "Why, child!" "Do you like it?" "Why Bernice!" "I suppose I've shocked you." "No, but what'll Mrs. Deyo think tomorrow night? Bernice, you should have waited until after the Deyo's dance--you should have waited if you wanted to do that." "It was sudden, Aunt Josephine. Anyway, why does it matter to Mrs. Deyo particularly?" "Why child," cried Mrs. Harvey, "in her paper on 'The Foibles of the Younger Generation' that she read at the last meeting of the Thursday Club she devoted fifteen minutes to bobbed hair. It's her pet abomination. And the dance is for you and Marjorie!" "I'm sorry." "Oh, Bernice, what'll your mother say? She'll think I let you do it." "I'm sorry." Dinner was an agony. She had made a hasty attempt with a curling-iron, and burned her finger and much hair. She could see that her aunt was both worried and grieved, and her uncle kept saying, "Well, I'll be darned!" over and over in a hurt and faintly hostile torte. And Marjorie sat very quietly, intrenched behind a faint smile, a faintly mocking smile. Somehow she got through the evening. Three boy's called; Marjorie disappeared with one of them, and Bernice made a listless unsuccessful attempt to entertain the two others--sighed thankfully as she climbed the stairs to her room at half past ten. What a day! When she had undressed for the night the door opened and Marjorie came in.