"And what does Romer say to all this?" said Mrs. Wyburn with a forced smile and a voice trembling with uncontrollable rage.
"Oh, he likes it, darling. He loves it. No one's been so keen about their dress as Romer. I'll go and fetch him, and my roll of parchment—I had forgotten my roll of parchment."
She ran upstairs and came down saying—
"Romer won't be a minute, dear; he's awfully anxious for you to see his dress. He's just darkening his eyelashes. That's all. He's Louis XIX or something, you know."
She then deliberately and openly drew Vaughan to the window where there was still bright June daylight and painted his lips a brilliant scarlet to their mutual satisfaction and Mrs. Wyburn's unspeakable horror.
"Mad," murmured Mrs. Wyburn, half to herself, "quite mad! I shall be quite upset for the Trott-Hellyers' dinner-party. It's Dr. Trott-Hellyers' birthday. He only lives three doors from you" (she said this rather reproachfully), "and I dine with him every year on his birthday! And to think I only came in to see my son for a minute or two, because I couldn't bear to pass his door ... his very door...."
"Sweet of you," said Valentia.
... "And then to think I should find——" She screamed suddenly.
Daphne had come in, in her green cloak, doublet and hose, and little green cap, Romer in paint and powder, patches and lace ruffles, sword and snuffbox. There was a lavish amount of rouge on his cheeks and his eyes were blacked almost to the temples.
Hearing that his mother was there he had finished the left eye rather hurriedly, the result being that he looked as if he had been fighting.