Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were

shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds.

Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they

both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s

and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived

in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the

window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had

King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement,

Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck

at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade

of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for

her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a

minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts

and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and

down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: “Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One

flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting.