Mr. Wycherly thought it was hard for Jane-Anne to have no money, and insisted on paying her five shillings a month for waiting upon him. Out of this, her aunt insisted that she must keep herself in stockings and gloves, which the child faithfully did. But a girl at school enlightened her as to the uses of curling tongs, and Jane-Anne succumbed to temptation. She borrowed the goffering irons, heated them in the kitchen fire and burnt both her hair and her forehead rather badly. Mr. Wycherly was infinitely more distressed about this than over the beer episode and took her gently to task for trying to improve upon what Nature had already made so harmonious and pleasing to the eye. That was the way to get at Jane-Anne. As always, she was perfectly frank with him. "Miss Willows says it is the duty of everyone to look as pretty as possible. ’Do your best and then think nothing more about it,’ she says. But I seem obliged to think about it. You see, I _know_ I’d be so much nicer if my hair was frizzy." "But I don’t think you would," Mr. Wycherly argued. "Your type is severe and classical; ’frizziness’ would be quite dreadful and incongruous." "But could _anyone_ be beautiful with straight hair?" "Why not?" "Lord Byron had wavy hair, _you_ have wavy hair, all the goddesses and people and Helen of Troy had wavy hair." "I assure you," Mr. Wycherly declared, absently passing a long, slender hand over his thick white locks, "I never think about my hair at all, except when I have to go and get it cut." "You never think about it, my dear, because you are so sure it is all right. You _know_ you are a most beautiful old person and that people must admire you if they looked at you at all, _therefore_ you can afford not to think about it." "My dear Jane-Anne, you are talking nonsense." "I’m not; really, truly, not. I often see people look at you in the street and I often hear them say nice things——" "Good heavens," cried Mr. Wycherly, "how dreadful!" "I shouldn’t think it a bit dreadful if they said such things about me," Jane-Anne said, "but they don’t yet—not often." "Do they ever?" Mr. Wycherly asked anxiously. "If I told you, you would say it was impertinent, so I won’t tell you, dear master." "Will you promise me to let your hair alone?" "If I promise, I should have to," Jane-Anne said doubtfully. "That’s why I want you to promise." "Will a year do?" pleaded Jane-Anne. "Three years," Mr. Wycherly maintained. Jane-Anne sighed deeply. "Well, I promise—but if at the end of that time I find something that will really truly make it curl, without smelling horrible or burning or spoiling it——" "Three years will do," said Mr. Wycherly. That evening when she went to say good-night to him he read her "A Face," by Robert Browning. "If one could have that little head of hers Painted upon a background of pure gold...." Jane-Anne listened, breathless, charmed. When he had finished he turned to her: