Jim, glancing back, as he started the machine—which wasn’t a Ford at all—saw her and waved.
The machine chugged off, and she went upstairs with a happy sigh and a little regretful that their house dance was over.
When she reached her room, Katherine, who had preceded her, gave her one startled glance, and then burst out laughing.
“Oh, you look awful, child,” she said, “whatever happened to you?”
And Peggy rushed to the mirror.
Horror of horrors—what—and then she remembered! Those eye-lashes and eye-brows that Hazel had put on so carefully—and those lips, too—had run! The black wavered down greasily from her eyes, making weird dark lines. The mouth with which she had so carelessly eaten ices was—a good deal to one side now.
“I forgot,” murmured Peggy, and that was all she was able to say, and this she repeated miserably at intervals, while Katherine dipped a towel in the water pitcher and began applying it to the beautifiers.
“Don’t tell me until you want to,” said Katherine, trying to keep the giggles back, and to speak sympathetically. “It isn’t so very bad—just kind of—wavy.”
“Well,” moaned Peggy, “Hazel Pilcher put it on. I can’t think how I came to let her, and—it must have been awfully poor make-up and got so—warm——!”
Her explanation ended in a sob and she jerked away from Katherine’s ministrations, and flung herself a crying heap upon the couch.