TWENTY FOUR
We retired to the drawing room, where steaming cups of tea awaited us upon a silver tray. The atmosphere was warm and amiable until Mr. Henry, with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, remarked, “I must confess, Miss Zoe, I adore what you have done with your hair. Perhaps you might be kind enough to share your secret with me?” I laughed lightly, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. “You flatter me, sir,” I replied, accepting his compliment with modest grace. But before I could further enjoy the moment, Papa chose that precise instant to dampen my spirits. “Zoe,” he said sharply, “you must change your hair to its natural colour. It is improper to appear otherwise.” Mr. Henry looked at him with mild astonishment. “And pray, sir, why should she?” he asked. Papa’s tone was brisk and
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