's polite departing voice.

Miriam's outraged head hung over the steaming basin--her hair spread
round it like a tent frilling out over the table.

For a moment she thought that the nausea which had seized her as she
surrendered would, the next instant, make flight imperative. Then her
amazed ears caught the sharp bump--crack--of an eggshell against the rim
of the basin, followed by a further brisk crackling just above her. She
shuddered from head to foot as the egg descended with a cold slither
upon her incredulous skull. Tears came to her eyes as she gave
beneath the onslaught of two hugely enveloping, vigorously drubbing
hands--"sh--ham--poo" gasped her mind.

The drubbing went relentlessly on. Miriam steadied her head against it
and gradually warmth and ease began to return to her shivering, clenched
body. Her hair was gathered into the steaming basin--dipped and rinsed
and spread, a comforting compress, warm with the water, over her
egg-sodden head. There was more drubbing, more dipping and rinsing. The
second basin was re-filled from the kitchen, and after a final rinse in
its fresh warm water, Miriam found herself standing up--with a twisted
tail of wet hair hanging down over her cape of damp towel--glowing and
hungry.

"Thank you," she said timidly to Frau Krause's bustling presence.

"Gun' Tak Fr'n," said Frau Krause, disappearing into the kitchen.

Miriam gave her hair a preliminary drying, gathered her dressing-gown
together and went upstairs. From the schoolroom came unmistakable
sounds. They were evidently at dinner. She hurried to her attic. What
_was_ she to do with her hair? She rubbed it desperately--fancy being
landed with hair like that, in the middle of the day! She could not
possibly go down.... She must. Fraulein Pfaff would expect her to--and
would be disgusted if she were not quick--she towelled frantically at
the short strands round her forehead, despairingly screwed them into
Hinde's and towelled at the rest. What had the other girls done? If only
she could look into the schoolroom before going down--it was awful--what
should she do?... She caught sight of a sodden-looking brush on
Mademoiselle's bed. Mademoiselle had put hers up--she had seen her... of
course... easy enough for her little fluffy clouds--she could do nothing
with her straight, wet lumps--she began to brush it out--it separated
into thin tails which flipped tiny drops of moisture against her hands
as she brushed. Her arms