Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë

I rose next morning with a feeling of hopeful exhilaration, in spite of the disappointments already experienced; but I found the dressing of Mary Ann was no light matter, as her abundant hair was to be smeared with pomade, plaited in three long tails, and tied with bows of ribbon: a task my unaccustomed fingers found great difficulty in performing.

She told me her nurse could do it in half the time, and, by keeping up a constant fidget of impatience, contrived to render me still longer.