in
Pfaff indeed! Ordering her, Miriam, to go downstairs and have her hair
washed... by Frau Krause... off-hand, without any warning ... someone
should have told her--and let her choose. Her hair was clean. Sarah had
always done it. Miriam's throat contracted. She would not go down. Frau
Krause should not touch her. She reached the attics. Their door was
open and there was Mademoiselle in her little alpaca dressing-jacket,
towelling her head.

Her face came up, flushed and gay. Miriam was too angry to note till
afterwards how pretty she had looked with her hair like that.

"Ah!... c'est le grand lavage!" sang Mademoiselle.

"Oui," said Miriam surlily.

What could she do? She imagined the whole school waiting downstairs to
see her come down to be done. Should she go down and decline, explain
to Fraulein Pfaff. She hated her vindictively--her "calm"
message--"treating me like a child." She saw the horse smile and heard
the caustic voice.

"It's sickening," she muttered, whisking her dressing-gown from its nail
and seizing a towel. Mademoiselle was piling up her damp hair before the
little mirror.

Slowly Miriam made her journey to the basement.

Minna and Elsa were brushing out their long hair with their door open. A
strong sweet perfume came from the room.

The basement hall was dark save for the patch of light coming from the
open kitchen door. In the patch stood a low table and a kitchen chair.
On the table which was shining wet and smeary with soap, stood a huge
basin. Out over the basin flew a long tail of hair and Miriam's anxious
eyes found Millie standing in the further gloom twisting and wringing.

19

No one else was to be seen. Perhaps it was all over. She was too late.
Then a second basin held in coarse red hands appeared round the kitchen
door and in a moment a woman, large and coarse, with the sleeves of
her large-checked blue and white cotton dress rolled back and a great
"teapot" of pale nasturtium coloured hair shining above the third of
Miriam's "bony" German faces had emerged and plumped her steaming basin
down upon the table.

Soap? and horrid pudding basins of steaming water. Miriam's hair had
never been washed with anything but cantharides and rose-water on a tiny
special sponge.

In full horror, "Oh," she said, in a low vague voice, "It doesn't matter
about me."

"Gun' Tak' Fr'n," snapped the woman briskly.

Miriam gave herself up.

"Gooten Mawgen, Frau Krause," said Millie