escaped from the front line of boys. What was the good of
working? Nothing came of it. She remained obscure and undefined to the
public. It was not hers to trip from a rostrum into the affection of an
audience. It was not hers to acknowledge the favor of applause by taking
a call. There was no shower of carnations or rain of violets round her
farewell curtseys. If she never danced again, it would not matter. Half
bitterly she recalled the spangled dreams of childhood, and revived the
splendor of a silver and pink ballet-skirt that now would seem such
tawdry, trumpery apparel.

"Fancy," she said to May; "I used to want to be a Columbine and dance
about Islington. Think of it. What an unnatural child!"

Columbine appeared fitfully in the Ballet-divertissements that opened
the Orient's entertainment, but Jenny never portrayed that elusive
personage. Certainly she played Harlequin once, when a girl was ill; and
very gay and sweet she looked in the trim suit checkered with black and
gold.

Jenny wondered why she had longed to grow up.

"I used to think that it was glorious to be grown up. But there's
nothing in it. There might be, but there isn't. I wish I could be what I
thought I would be as a kid."

"Oh, Jenny, don't talk so much, and get dressed," said Irene. "Aren't
you coming out to-night?"

"I suppose so," Jenny answered. "I wish I couldn't. I wish I'd _got_ to
meet somebody. There, now I've told you."

"Hark at her. Hark at Jenny Pearl."

"Oh, well, I'm sick of going out with _you_."

Irene sulked awhile; then asked:

"Have you seen the peroxide they've sent up for our arms?"

"Oo-er! Why?"

"Mr. Walters said all the girls was to use it."

"Oh, aren't they shocking, Irene? I do think they're awful."

"Somebody said the Hesperides didn't look nice from the front."

Jenny examined the purple bottle which would idealize their forms to an
Hellenic convention. After the first indignation had worn itself out,
she began to be amused by the transformations of the drug. Lying in bed
next morning, she began to play with the notion of dyeing her hair. The
tradition of youthful fairness from the midst of which glowed her deep
blue eyes, was still vital in Hagworth Street. Other girls dyed their
hair, and already once or twice Jenny had considered the step; but the
exertion of buying the peroxide had hitherto stifled the impulse. Here,
however, was the opportunity, and surely the experiment was worth the
trial.