Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. But one must disguise oneself. She would have to leave very soon. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. The only persons in the Lodge were Mrs. The theme was a masquerade. ” “Except,” said Constance, surveying her work with her head on one side, “to keep the matches from the litter. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her.
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