And
Kitty would wear her pink dotted mull to the party. Missy sighed.
Then meditatively she unbraided her long, mouse-coloured braids;
twisted them into tentative loops over her ears; earnestly studied
the effect. No; her hair was too straight and heavy. She tried to
imagine undulating waves across her forehead-if only mother would
let her use crimpers! Perhaps she would! And then, perhaps, she
wouldn't look so plain. She wished she were not so plain; the
longing to be pretty made her fairly ache.
Then slowly the words of that man crept across her memory: "What
beautiful eyes!" Could he have meant her? She stared at the eyes
which stared back from the looking-glass till she had the odd
sensation that they were something quite strange and Allen to her:
big, dark, deep, and grave eyes, peering out from some unknown
consciousness. And they were beautiful eyes!
Suddenly she was awakened from her dreams by a voice at the door:
"Missy, why in the world haven't you gone to bed?"
Missy started and blushed as though discovered in mischief.
"What have you been doing with your hair?"
"Oh, just experimenting.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111