"Your hair looks beautiful," said the reflection.

Anne dropped her eyes to her book.

Presently she raised them.

"If only the people in church could see," said the charming reflection.

Anne imagined the sensation she would make as she walked up the aisle.
None of the girls in Fairfax or the country around had ever worn their
hair puffed over their ears or tied with broad black ribbon. There
would be a little flutter, and during church time the girls would look
at nothing else, and it would be delightful to feel that for once she,
little plain Anne Batcheller, was the center of attraction.

She dropped her book. "I think I will go, after all," she said
virtuously, and Judy, not knowing her motive, looked at her with envy.

"You are a good little thing, Anne," she said, and at the praise Anne's
face flamed.

She dressed hurriedly, in her one white dress, with a sigh for the
becomingness of the blue kimona. When she was ready to tie on her old
hat, she went to the mirror.

"It is because your hair is so pretty that you are going to church,"
said the reflection, accusingly.

"It is because of my conscience," defended Anne, but she did not dare
to meet the eyes in the mirror, and she turned away quickly.