“That sounds a little vulgar,” observed Rose.  “There are your stockings under the bed.  You must have dropped them under.  I should think the more simply you do your hair the better if you are going to wear a coloured kerchief over it.  You have natural ringlets in front, and that is the only part that will show.”

“And they will hang down over my eyes,” retorted Dinah, “unless I fasten them back with a comb, which I haven’t got.  Oh, don’t stay, Rose!  I know you are wanting to go, and you can’t help me.  I shall manage somehow.”

“Are you quite sure?” said Rose turning again to survey herself.

“Quite—­quite!  I shall get on best alone.  I’m in a bad temper too, and I want to use language—­horrid language,” said Dinah, tugging viciously at her dark hair.

Rose lowered her stately gaze and watched her for a moment.  Then as Dinah’s green eyes suddenly flashed resentful enquiry upon her she lightly touched the girl’s flushed cheek, and turned away.  “Poor little Dinah!” she said.

The door closed upon her graceful figure in its old-world, sweeping robe and Dinah whizzed round from the glass like a naughty fairy in a rage.  “Rose de Vigne, I hate you!” she said aloud, and stamped her unshod foot upon the floor.

A period of uninterrupted misfortune followed this outburst.  Everything went wrong.  The costume which the French maid had so deftly fitted upon her that morning refused to be adjusted properly.  The fastenings baffled her, and finally a hook at the back took firm hold of the lawn of her sleeve and maliciously refused to be disentangled therefrom.

Dinah struggled for freedom for some minutes till the lawn began to tear, and then at last she became desperate.  “Billy must do it,” she said, and almost in tears she threw open the door and ran down the passage.

Billy’s room was round a corner, and this end of the corridor was dim.  As she turned it, she almost collided with a figure coming in the opposite direction—­a boyish-looking figure in evening dress which she instantly took for Billy.

“Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed.  “Do come along and help me like a saint!  I’m in such a fix.”

There was an instant’s pause before she discovered her mistake, and then in the same moment a man’s voice answered her.

“Of course I will help you with pleasure.  What is wrong?”

Dinah started back, as if she would flee in dismay.  But perhaps it was the kindness of his response, or possibly only the extremity of her need—­something held her there.  She stood her ground as it were in spite of herself.

“Oh, it is you!  I do beg your pardon.  I thought it was Billy.  I’ve got my sleeve caught up at the back, and I want him to undo it.”

“I’ll undo it if you will allow me,” said Scott.

“Oh, would you?  How awfully kind!  My arm is nearly broken with trying to get free.  You can’t see here though,” said Dinah.  “There’s a light by my door.”