Peggy turned her disappointed gaze back to the mirror.
“Come down to my room and I’ll just fix you up a little,” said Hazel.
Now Hazel’s ideas of dress, and those of the rest of the girls in the house, widely differed. For she always bought the most extreme styles in hats and suits, and she always adopted the most exaggerated new mannerisms of walking and talking.
So Peggy was inclined to be doubtful of the value of her assistance, but Hazel urged her, so she finally went down to her room.
Here, Hazel uncorked several delightful-looking little jars.
“You’d better shut your eyes,” warned she, and a minute later something cool was sliding along Peggy’s eye-lashes, and then she felt it again, going over her eye-brows.
She knew in a horrible moment just what was happening, but the foolish wish to look as wonderful as possible, held her silent, and prevented the protest that had sprung to her lips.
“And now,” said Hazel, in a matter-of-fact way, “your lips.”
And Peggy watched fascinatedly in a hand-glass while the dainty, scented little red pencil made its crimson imprint on her mouth.
“And—just a touch on your cheeks,” said Hazel again.