Miss Butterworth's hair was not beautiful, and how it was to be made the most of was the great question that agitated the hair-dresser.

All the possibilities of braid and plait and curl were canvassed.

If she only had a switch, a great triumph could be achieved, but she had none, and, what was worse, would have none.

A neighbor had sent in a potted white rose, full of buds and bloom, and over this the sisters quarreled.

The hair would not be complete without the roses, and the table would look "shameful" if the pot did not stand upon it, unshorn of a charm.