Carnival Part 24

"Oh, aren't they shocking, Irene? I do think they're awful."

"Somebody said the Hesperides didn't look nice from the front."

Jenny examined the purple bottle which would idealize their forms to an h.e.l.lenic convention. After the first indignation had worn itself out, she began to be amused by the transformations of the drug. Lying in bed next morning, she began to play with the notion of dyeing her hair. The tradition of youthful fairness from the midst of which glowed her deep blue eyes, was still vital in Hagworth Street. Other girls dyed their hair, and already once or twice Jenny had considered the step; but the exertion of buying the peroxide had hitherto stifled the impulse. Here, however, was the opportunity, and surely the experiment was worth the trial. She jumped out of bed and examined herself critically in the toilet-gla.s.s; tried to picture the effect of fairness. It would be a change, anyhow it would be something to vary the monotony of existence.

It would be interesting to learn if her new appearance provoked admiration greater than ever. It would be interesting to see if the change impressed the authorities of the Orient. Best of all, perhaps, would be the exclamations of surprise when the dressing-room first beheld the alteration.

Having conceived the plan, she began to hate her present appearance, to ascribe to her present shade all the boredom that was clinging round her like a fog. Her own hair, paradoxically enough, came to be considered an unnatural color. After all, she was really fair, and had been cheated of her natural hue merely by the freak of time. It was not as if she were truly dark. She could herself remember the glories of her complexion before they paled in the gloomy airs of the Orient. For a moment, however, the birth of artifice dismayed her. She wondered if, in addition to going fair, she would also go magenta, like some of the girls who always made up. Again the phantom of age laughed over her shoulder; but the contemplation of futurity was fleeting, and she decided that if she was going fair, the sooner she went the better it would be; if she waited till thirty the world might laugh with reason.

She would chance it. Jenny appropriated a bottle of the management's peroxide that very night, and excited by the prospect of entertainment, came home immediately after the performance, alarming Mrs. Raeburn so much by her arrival that the latter exclaimed:

"You _are_ early. Is anything the matter?"

"Anything the matter? Whatever should be the matter?"

"Well, it's only a quarter to twelve."

"Who cares?"

"Don't say that to me."

"I shall say _what_ I like, and I'm going to bed."

May, however, was wide awake when Jenny reached their room; so the deed had to be postponed. May, elated by her sister's unaccustomed earliness, chattered profusely, and it was two o'clock in the morning before she fell asleep. Then Jenny crept out of bed and by the faintest glimmer of gaslight achieved the transformation.

She woke up in the morning to May's cries of disgust.

"Oh, you sight! Whatever have you done?"

"_Don't_ make such a shocking noise. I've gone fair."

"Gone fair!" exclaimed her sister. "Gone white, you mean. Get up and look at yourself. You look terrible."

"What do you mean?" asked Jenny. "Here, give me hold of the hand-gla.s.s."

Her reflection upset her. She must have put on too much in the uncertain light.

"It's like milk," cried May.

"Don't annoy me."

"Oh, Jenny, it's awful. It's like that canary of Alfie's who died so sudden. It's shocking. What _will_ all my friends say?"

"Who cares about your friends? _They're_ n.o.body. Besides, it'll be quite all right soon. It's bound to sink in."

"What will Alfie say?"

"Oh, d.a.m.n Alfie!"

"There's a lady. Now swear."

"Well, you annoy me. It's my own hair, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's your own hair right enough. n.o.body else wouldn't own it."

"I don't think I'll come down to breakfast this morning. Say I've got a most shocking headache, and fetch me up a cup of tea, there's a little love."

"Mother'll only come up and see what's the matter, so _don't_ be silly.

You've got to go downstairs some time."

"Oo-er, May, I wish I hadn't done it now. It's going whiter all the time. Look at it. Oh, what unnatural stuff. It can't go lighter than white, can it?"

Mrs. Raeburn, in the act of pouring out tea, held the pot suspended, and, shaking with laughter, looked at her daughter. Charlie, too, happened to be at home.

"Good gracious alive!" cried the mother.

"I thought I'd see how it looked," Jenny explained, with apologetic notes in her voice.

"You'll think your head right off next time," said Charlie profoundly.

Jenny was seized with an idea.

"I had to do it for the theater. At least, I thought--oh, well--_don't_ all stare as if you'd never seen a girl with fair hair. You'll get used to it."

"I sha'n't," said Charlie hopelessly. "I shouldn't never get used to that, not if I lived till I was a hundred. Not if I never died at all."

"Depend upon it," said Mrs. Raeburn, "her Aunt Mabel will come and see us this very day and ask what I've been doing."

"What about it?" said Jenny defiantly. "Who's she? Surely I can do what I like with my own hair without asking _her_."

"Now, what 'ud you say if I went and dyed my hair?" asked Charlie, "and come down with it the color of an acid drop. That's what I'd like to know."

A silence of pent-up laughter held the breakfast party, while, under the mirthful glances of her mother and sister, Jenny began to regret the change. At last she volunteered:

"Oh, well, it's done now."

"Done in, I should say," corrected Charlie.

It was a gusty morning of clouds in early June, and the Hagworth Street kitchen was dark. The sun, however, streamed in for a moment in the wake of Charlie's correction, and Jenny's new hair was lighted up.

"Why, it's worse than I thought," said Mrs. Raeburn.

"You look like a funny turn."

"It looks like that ginger-beer we had on Whit-Monday," said her father.

"Oh, who cares?" cried Jenny, flouncing upstairs out of the room. When she came down again, she was dressed to go out.

"You're never going out in broad daylight?" asked May.