“How are you, Mrs. Hillier? I have really hardly met you to speak to until to-day.”
“Good-morning, Mrs. Kellynch. … It was kind of you to let me come.”
Mary sat down awkwardly and began to put her left hand into the right-hand glove. She sat near the light, and Bertha saw that she had been covering her face with what she supposed to be powder, but what was nothing else than carmine.
Should she tell her?
Could she let her remain in ignorance of this until afterwards? She would find it out when she went home.
“I want to speak to you very much, Mrs. Kellynch. … It is very awkward, but I feel I must.”
“Have some tea first,” said Bertha, and while she poured it out and passed it to Mrs. Hillier she felt she could no longer leave her in ignorance of her appearance.
She pointed to the silver looking-glass that stood on a small table, and said: “Mrs. Hillier, just look at that. I fancy you’ve put something on your face by mistake. Do forgive me!”
Mary gave a shriek.
“Good heavens, how horrible! I must have put rouge on instead of powder! I look like a comic actor!”