preened a little and was glad she had done her hair.

"You looked better the other way," said the red-haired person,
reading her mind in a most uncanny manner. "Why should a girl with
as pretty hair as yours cover it up with a net, anyhow?"

"You are very disagreeable and--and impertinent," said Jane,
sliding off the table.

"It isn't disagreeable to tell a girl she has pretty hair," the
red-haired person protested--"or impertinent either."

Jane was gathering up the remnants of her temper, scattered by the
events of the day.

"You said I was a neurasthenic," she accused him. "It--it isn't
being a neurasthenic to be nervous and upset and hating the very
sight of people, is it?"

"Bless my soul!" said the red-haired man. "Then what is it?" Jane
flushed, but he went on tactlessly: "I give you my word, I think you
are the most perfectly"--he gave every appearance of being about to
say "beautiful," but he evidently changed his mind--"the most
perfectly healthy person I have ever looked at," he finished.

It is difficult to say just what Jane would have done under other
circumstances, but just as she was getting her temper really in hand
and preparing to launch something, shuffling footsteps were heard in
the hall and Higgins stood in the doorway.