hall, and they heard the door slam against the wall again. Barton, who had been lingering close by, rushed to shut it against the terrible wind.
"Whew! Next time the wind is blowing like this, Barton, bolt the door and don't open it for anybody!" declared Max, rising and heading for his room.
"Max, where did you meet this Iseult?" asked Tristram.
"As if you don't know, Sir Milton. You are a sly one," he added.
"Not really. I had forgotten all about her."
"Tris, I hate to side with our father on this, but you really should get out of the house more. You're too wrapped up in those books of yours."
Tristram's brow rose in disdain. "You are a strange one to be giving me advice. You have been out almost constantly, but you have nothing more to show for your efforts than I do. Rather less, since I received a tidy little
sum for my first book, the one I left with the publisher last spring."
"I didn't even realize you had written one. Congratulations, little brother. I am proud of you, but it still can't be as much as a hefty dowry."
"I know. And I will get out of the house," said Tristram, rising and going to the mantel where a small pile of invitations waited. Picking up the first one, he said, "Lady Murray's ball this Monday. We'll begin our campaigns in earnest then."
"Very good," said Max, wondering if this was the ball the mysterious Iseult was going to attend. Very likely. There could not be that many, not during the Little Season. "Tell me again, Tris, what is the name of the hero in your books?"
"Sir Milton."
"Is there a heroine?"
Tristram blushed and said, "Iseult."
Max grinned and nodded. "Monday it is!"
"I think it very badly done of Papa to deny me the right to visit the stables anymore," grumbled Kate. "I have been cooped up in this house for days on end!"
"Nonsense, my dear. We went to service just yesterday morning. And we have paid calls every afternoon."
"Yes, but that does not count. I want to go riding in the park by myself."
Her mother and their maid murmured sympathetically, but they were too busy studying her in the mirror to really pay attention to her words.
"I cannot like it," said Mrs. O'Connor. "To cut off all that glorious hair..."
"I promise you, madam, zee hair will be as beautiful
as your daughter," said the tall, fussy man with scissors in his hands.
"Couldn't you just, oh, I don't know, tame it a little?"
The hairdresser sighed. "I do not see 'ow, madam. It is no more than a mop as it is. Where do I start?"
"I tell you where you start, Mr. Popinjay ..."
"Now, Dolly, I'm sure Monsieur Poupin meant no insult," said Mrs. O'Connor. "What do you think, Kate? It is your hair, after all."
"I am surprised anyone even noticed that little fact," she snapped.
"Miss Kate!"
"Oh, very well. I apologize, Mama, but I am so very aggravated. I really do not wish to cut my hair, but if it is the fashion, then I suppose if must be done."
The hairdresser held his scissors in readiness. Mrs. O'Connor stroked the long red curls and shuddered before giving a nod. The hairdresser set to his work with uncommon glee, whacking off long tresses before beginning to snip more judiciously, here and there.
Finally, he stood back, waving his scissors with a flourish.
"I give you, Miss O'Connor!"
Mrs. O'Connor and Dolly stepped forward, looking at Kate's face in the glass, framed by clusters of red curls.
"Oh, you do look a treat, Miss Kate," breathed the maid.
Mrs. O'Connor smiled at her daughter and nodded in approval. Kate returned the smile.
"Do you like it, dear?"
"It is quite different, but yes, I do like it."
"Of course she likes it!" declared the hairdresser. "It is perfect for her face, perfect for her hair. No one else
would dare to cut her hair so short, but me, I know what is best. You see how it makes her neck look swan-like. Yes this, this is my masterpiece! Other girls will beg me to do the same for them, but I will say no! This," he said, taking Kate's chin and turning her head
"Whew! Next time the wind is blowing like this, Barton, bolt the door and don't open it for anybody!" declared Max, rising and heading for his room.
"Max, where did you meet this Iseult?" asked Tristram.
"As if you don't know, Sir Milton. You are a sly one," he added.
"Not really. I had forgotten all about her."
"Tris, I hate to side with our father on this, but you really should get out of the house more. You're too wrapped up in those books of yours."
Tristram's brow rose in disdain. "You are a strange one to be giving me advice. You have been out almost constantly, but you have nothing more to show for your efforts than I do. Rather less, since I received a tidy little
sum for my first book, the one I left with the publisher last spring."
"I didn't even realize you had written one. Congratulations, little brother. I am proud of you, but it still can't be as much as a hefty dowry."
"I know. And I will get out of the house," said Tristram, rising and going to the mantel where a small pile of invitations waited. Picking up the first one, he said, "Lady Murray's ball this Monday. We'll begin our campaigns in earnest then."
"Very good," said Max, wondering if this was the ball the mysterious Iseult was going to attend. Very likely. There could not be that many, not during the Little Season. "Tell me again, Tris, what is the name of the hero in your books?"
"Sir Milton."
"Is there a heroine?"
Tristram blushed and said, "Iseult."
Max grinned and nodded. "Monday it is!"
"I think it very badly done of Papa to deny me the right to visit the stables anymore," grumbled Kate. "I have been cooped up in this house for days on end!"
"Nonsense, my dear. We went to service just yesterday morning. And we have paid calls every afternoon."
"Yes, but that does not count. I want to go riding in the park by myself."
Her mother and their maid murmured sympathetically, but they were too busy studying her in the mirror to really pay attention to her words.
"I cannot like it," said Mrs. O'Connor. "To cut off all that glorious hair..."
"I promise you, madam, zee hair will be as beautiful
as your daughter," said the tall, fussy man with scissors in his hands.
"Couldn't you just, oh, I don't know, tame it a little?"
The hairdresser sighed. "I do not see 'ow, madam. It is no more than a mop as it is. Where do I start?"
"I tell you where you start, Mr. Popinjay ..."
"Now, Dolly, I'm sure Monsieur Poupin meant no insult," said Mrs. O'Connor. "What do you think, Kate? It is your hair, after all."
"I am surprised anyone even noticed that little fact," she snapped.
"Miss Kate!"
"Oh, very well. I apologize, Mama, but I am so very aggravated. I really do not wish to cut my hair, but if it is the fashion, then I suppose if must be done."
The hairdresser held his scissors in readiness. Mrs. O'Connor stroked the long red curls and shuddered before giving a nod. The hairdresser set to his work with uncommon glee, whacking off long tresses before beginning to snip more judiciously, here and there.
Finally, he stood back, waving his scissors with a flourish.
"I give you, Miss O'Connor!"
Mrs. O'Connor and Dolly stepped forward, looking at Kate's face in the glass, framed by clusters of red curls.
"Oh, you do look a treat, Miss Kate," breathed the maid.
Mrs. O'Connor smiled at her daughter and nodded in approval. Kate returned the smile.
"Do you like it, dear?"
"It is quite different, but yes, I do like it."
"Of course she likes it!" declared the hairdresser. "It is perfect for her face, perfect for her hair. No one else
would dare to cut her hair so short, but me, I know what is best. You see how it makes her neck look swan-like. Yes this, this is my masterpiece! Other girls will beg me to do the same for them, but I will say no! This," he said, taking Kate's chin and turning her head
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