Do you remember when you last cut my hair?"
"Yes--it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for
cutting bakneesh, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you
sit on a rock and let me trim it."
"And you cut my ear," he reminded.
"For which you made me pay," she retorted quickly, almost under her
breath.
She went to the cupboard behind the stove, and brought out her
father's shaving-mug and razor.
"I insist that you shall use them," she said, stirring the soap into a
lather, and noting the indecision in his face. "I am afraid of you!"
"Afraid of me?"
He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face
from side to side. Melisse handed him the razor and cup.
"You don't seem like the Jan that I used to know once upon a time.
There has been a great change in you since--since--"
She hesitated.
"Since when, Melisse?"
"Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair."
With timid sweetness she added: "I haven't had it up again, Jan."
She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her
with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that
she was looking, and Melisse set to work at the dishes. She had washed
them before he finished shaving.
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