Margaret made a detour, entered the house by the kitchen door and went up to her room.

She wrenched off blouse and skirt, got into a dressing sacque and let down her thick black hair.

The headache was now real, so upsetting to digestion had been the advent of Madam Bowker, obviously on mischief bent.

"She transforms me into a raging devil," thought Margaret, staring at her fiercely sullen countenance in the mirror of the dressing table.

"I wish I'd gone in to see her.