Linda leaned forward suddenly and laid an affectionate hand on the other's knee. "But I'm right, dear," she said, her eyes bright. Mrs. Porter patted the hand in silence and the bathroom door slowly opened. Blanche Aurora, looking very young indeed, clad in white, with white arms and neck, and tanned face and hands, stood with the old plaid gingham over her arm. Her gaze fled to the bed, then returned to the rusty plaid. So might a butterfly regard the chrysalis from which it had just emerged. "Do I put this on again?" she asked. "No," returned Linda. "Fold it and put it on that chair over there." Light scintillated in Blanche Aurora's eyes as she obeyed; a light which boded ill for the faded gingham. Linda rose and placed a chair in front of her dressing-table. "Come here and sit down," she said. Blanche Aurora hesitated but for an instant before complying. "What be you goin' to do?" she asked as Linda lifted the tortured braids and inspected the white string. "Goin' to cut my hair off?" "Do you want me to?" "I don't care. It's only a bother, anyway. I have to braid it every few days." "Every few days? Oh, Blanche Aurora, you ought to brush it every night." "I should worry," ejaculated the other. "Red hair don't deserve anything like that. If I didn't have red hair I wouldn't have so many freckles and I'd look nicer in the pink dress. I pinch it good when I braid it," added Blanche Aurora savagely. "I should think you did," returned Linda, whose deft fingers were meanwhile unbraiding the hair and removing the disciplinary string. "It is kinky enough to stuff a little mattress. You have a nice lot of it. Mrs. Porter, will you hand me that box at the foot of the bed? I'm glad I remembered to get you these." And Linda opened the box, displaying a white brush and comb which she began using on the bright hair while its owner colored with excitement through all her tan at the possession of such grandeur. She sat silent, watching in the glass the amazing vision of Linda combing and brushing the freed locks which seemed making the most of their escape to fly in all directions and encircle the excited face with a bright aureole. Linda turned and smiled at Mrs. Porter, who nodded appreciation. Many a fine lady would gladly pay a small fortune for the luxuriant shining waves that rippled now under Linda's brush. "I suppose your hair is straight," she said. "As a poker," agreed its owner promptly. "I douse it good when I have to braid it over and you'd better too, Miss Linda. You can't never braid it the way it is now; and it likes to git the best of you." The speaker eyed her halo vindictively. Her hair was an ancient enemy and only her mother's commands had protected its existence. "When did you wash it?" "Last week. I don't never wash it winters, but summers Miss Barry makes me." "You don't need to wash it often in this clean place; but brush it a lot with your white brush. Will you, Blanche Aurora?"