Sylvia stood watching her.

When she had succeeded in removing the hat, she thrust her slender fingers through her fluff of blond hair and looked in the glass.

Her face appeared over the bunch of flowers, as Sylvia had thought of its doing.

Rose began to laugh.
"Good gracious!" she said.

"For all I took such pains to wash my face in the lavatory, there is a great black streak on my left cheek.
Sometimes I think the Pullmans are dirtier than the common coaches--that more soft-coal smoke comes in those large windows; don't you think so ?" Sylvia colored, but her honesty was fearless.