Janet is an artist at hair-dressing." "Nopy! nix on the barber act for little Zaly! I'll comb my own wig, thank you!" With a comb, she stood before the cheval glass, and twisted up the dark mop into a tidy but most unbecoming coil.
"Don't you _care_ how it looks ?" cried Patty, in dismay.

"Really, _don't_ you?
And you've such pretty hair!" "Then if it's pretty hair, it doesn't need any fancy doing," and Azalea gave a whimsical smile.

"There, that's done.

Now for my frock." Janet had whisked the white muslin away, and already had it back, pressed and freshened.
"Lovely!" Azalea exclaimed; "how ever did you do it so quick?
Happen to have an iron on the stove ?" "Electric iron," said Patty, briefly.

"They're always handy, you know." "Never saw one.