Marjorie ended the long day in a worldly mood.
"Penny for your thoughts," said Daffy abruptly, brushing the long
firelit rapids of her hair.
"Not for sale," said Marjorie, and roused herself. "I've had a long
day."
"It's always just the time I particularly wish I was a man," she
remarked after a brief return to meditation. "Fancy, no hair-pins, no
brushing, no tie-up to get lost about, no strings. I suppose they
haven't strings?"
"They haven't," said Daffy with conviction.
She met Marjorie's interrogative eye. "Father would swear at them," she
explained. "He'd naturally tie himself up--and we should hear of it."
"I didn't think of that," said Marjorie, and stuck out her chin upon her
fists. "Sound induction."
She forgot this transitory curiosity.
"Suppose one had a maid, Daffy--a real maid ... a maid who mended your
things ... did your hair while you read...."
"Oh! here goes," and she stood up and grappled with the task of
undressing.