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They will think I am not respectable.

Oh, Marilla, 'what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.' That is poetry, but it is true.

And oh, how Josie Pye will laugh! Marilla, I CANNOT face Josie Pye.

I am the unhappiest girl in Prince Edward Island."

Anne's unhappiness continued for a week.

During that time she went nowhere and shampooed her hair every day.

Diana alone of outsiders knew the fatal secret, but she promised solemnly never to tell, and it may be stated here and now that she kept her word.

At the end of the week Marilla said decidedly:

"It's no use, Anne. That is fast dye if ever there was any. Your hair must be cut off; there is no other way. You can't go out with it looking like that."

Anne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth of Marilla's remarks. With a dismal sigh she went for the scissors.

"Please cut it off at once, Marilla, and have it over.

Oh, I feel that my heart is broken.

This is such an unromantic affliction.

The girls in books lose their hair in fevers or sell it to get money for some good deed, and I'm sure I wouldn't mind losing my hair in some such fashion half so much.

But there is nothing comforting in having your hair cut off because you've dyed it a dreadful color, is there? I'm going to weep all the time you're cutting it off, if it won't interfere.

It seems such a tragic thing."

Anne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and looked in the glass, she was calm with despair.

Marilla had done her work thoroughly and it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closely as possible.

The result was not becoming, to state the case as mildly as may be.

Anne promptly turned her glass to the wall.

"I'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows," she exclaimed passionately.

Then she suddenly righted the glass.

"Yes, I will, too.

I'd do penance for being wicked that way.

I'll look at myself every time I come to my room and see how ugly I am.

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