Sheila rose with a great swelling in her throat.  All her courage had ebbed away.  She had reflected how pained her husband would be if she did not please this old lady; and she was now prepared to do anything she was told, to receive meekly any remarks that might be made to her, to be quite obedient and gentle and submissive.  But what was this tall and terrible woman going to do to her?  Did she really mean to cut away those great masses of hair to which Mrs. Lavender had objected?  Sheila would have let her hair be cut willingly for her husband’s sake; but as she went to the door some wild and despairing notions came into her head of what her husband might think of her when once she was shorn of this beautiful personal feature.  Would he look at her with surprise—­perhaps even with disappointment?

“Mind you don’t keep luncheon late,” he said to her as she passed him.

She but indistinctly heard him, so great was the trembling within her.  Her father would scarcely know his altered Sheila when she went back to Borva; and what would Mairi say—­Mairi who had many a time helped her to arrange those long tresses, and who was as proud of them as if they were her own?  She followed Mrs. Lavender’s tall maid up stairs.  She entered a small dressing-room and glanced nervously round.  Then she suddenly turned, looked for a moment at the woman, and said, with tears rushing up into her eyes, “Does Mrs. Lavender wish me to cut my hair?”

The woman regarded her with astonishment:  “Cut, miss?—­ma’am.  I beg your pardon.  No, ma’am, not at all.  I suppose it is only some difference in the arrangement, ma’am.  Mrs. Lavender is very particular about the hair, and she has asked me to show several ladies how to dress their hair in the way she likes.  But perhaps you would prefer letting it remain as it is, ma’am?”

“Oh no, not at all!” said Sheila, “I should like to have it just as Mrs. Lavender wishes—­in every way just as she wishes.  Only, it will not be necessary to cut any?”

“Oh no, miss—­ma’am; and it would be a great pity, if I may say so, to cut your hair.”

Sheila was pleased to hear that.  Here was a woman who had a large experience in such matters among those very ladies of her husband’s social circle whom she had been a little afraid to meet.  Mrs. Paterson seemed to admire her hair as much as the simple Mairi had done; and Sheila soon began to have less fear of this terrible tiring-woman, who forthwith proceeded with her task.

The young wife went down stairs with a tower upon her head.  She was very uncomfortable.  She had seen, it is true, that this method of dressing the hair really became her—­or rather would become her in certain circumstances.  It was grand, imposing, statuesque, but then she did not feel statuesque just at this moment.  She could have dressed herself to suit this style of hair; she could have worn it with confidence if she had got it up herself; but here