"Becoming," said she. "It actually makes you hideous. That shade is
impossible for you and why,--I trust you will not be offended, you
know it is for your own good, dear,--why do you wear your hair in
that fashion?"

"I am afraid it is not very becoming," said Annie with the meekness
of those who inherit the earth. She did not state that her aunt
Harriet had insisted that she dress her hair in that fashion. Annie
was intensely loyal.

"Nobody," said Margaret, "unless she were as beautiful as Helen of
Troy, should wear her hair that way, and not look a fright."

Annie Eustace blushed, but it was not a distressed blush. When one
has been downtrodden one's whole life, one becomes accustomed to it,
and besides she loved the down-treader.

"Yes," said she. "I looked at myself in my glass just before I came
and I thought I did not look well."

"Hideous," said Margaret.

Annie smiled agreement and looked pretty, despite the fact that her
hair was strained tightly back, showing too much of her intellectual
forehead, and the colour of her gown killed all the pink bloom lights
in her face. Annie Eustace had a beautiful soul and it showed forth
triumphant over all bodily accessories, in her smile.

"You are not doing that embroidery at all well," said Margaret.