It is lovely out there to-day." With that Lucy sprang from the bed and let her wrapper slip from her shoulders.

She stood before her old-fashioned black-walnut bureau and began brushing her hair.

Her white arms and shoulders gleamed through it as she brushed with what seemed a cruel violence.
Rose laughed in a forced way.

"Why, dear, you brush your hair as if it had offended you," she said.
"Don't brush so hard, Lucy," said Mrs.Ayres.
"I just hate my old hair, anyway," said Lucy, with a vicious stroke of the brush.

She bent her head over, and swept the whole dark mass downward until it concealed her face and nearly touched her knees.
Then she gave it a deft twist, righted herself, and pinned the coil in place.
"How beautifully you do up your hair," said Rose.
Lucy cast an appreciative glance at herself in the glass.