"Perhaps it was absurd. But men in love are unreasonable creatures, and David was perfectly mad where I was concerned. He worshipped me to the point of idolatry! He never could _quite_ believe that I did not regret my—my choice—that my heart did not sometimes escape from his keeping in dreams, and become yours again, Owen! He never _really_ cared for Patrine, because she has a look of you.... Absurd, considering that she was born two years after you disappeared into South Africa.... Though of course I could not truthfully say that I did not—think of you a great deal!" It seemed to the silent man who heard, that Mildred offended against decency. His soul loathed her. She went on: "Her brother—my darling boy who died—was the very image of David!" Her tone was even womanly and tender in speaking of the dead boy. "But Patrine—a year younger—Patrine is really wonderfully like you, with her commanding figure and almost Egyptian profile, those long eyes under straight eyebrows—and all those masses of dead-black hair!" As Saxham writhed under the category she gave out her irritating laugh again. "Ah!—I forgot! When Patrine was in Paris with Lady Beauvayse for the Big Week—Lady Beau took her to the Atelier Wiber—the famous hairdresser’s establishment at 000, Rue de la Paix—where they specialise in _Chevelures des Teintes Moderne_—all the newest effects displayed by stylish mannequins—and really the change is astonishing—her sister Irma and I hardly knew Patrine when she came to see us at Kensington—looking superb, with hair—one might almost call it terra-cotta coloured—showing up her creamy-white skin." "Do you tell me that Patrine has bleached her splendid hair and stained it with one of those vile dyes that are based on aniline—or Egyptian henna at the best?" Mildred retorted acidly: "It was a very expensive process.... Five hundred francs—but I understand that Lady Beauvayse was so good as to insist on paying Wiber’s charges herself." Saxham answered brusquely: "I would have given ten times the money to know my niece’s hair unspoiled. Whoever paid, the process will prove an expensive one to Patrine when she finds herself excruciated by headaches, or when the colour changes—as it will by-and-by!" Mildred shrugged: "She can have it re-dipped, surely? Or let it return to its original black!" "There are many chemical arguments against human hair so altered returning to its original colour," came from Saxham grimly. "As these women who have made coiffures of orange, pink, crimson, blue and green, fashionable, had previously found to their cost. Do you not realise that from mishaps of this kind resulted the chromatically tinted heads one sees at public functions? Bizarre and strange in the electric lights, hideous in the sun."