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It was a matter of notoriety in St.Hospital that Mrs.Clerihew wore a false "front." The thing came away in Mrs.
Royle's clutch, and amid shrieks of laughter Mrs.Royle tossed it to Mrs.Ibbetson, who promptly clapped down a hot flat-iron upon it.
The spectators rocked with helpless mirth as the poor woman strove to cover her bald brows, while the thing hissed and shrivelled to nothing, emitting an acrid odour beneath the relentless flat-iron.
"Ladies! ladies!" commanded Brother Copas.

"A visitor, if you please!" The word--as always in St.Hospital--instantly commanded a hush.
The women fled back to their tables, and started ironing, goffering, crimping for dear life, with irons hot and cold.