“I pull out ze ugly thick eyebrow and shape heem magnifique,” she replied calmly, as she yanked out another.
“No, no,” Marjorie remonstrated. “I can’t allow it—it is too—well—silly.”
“Seely?—Why you say seely?—Eet is stylish, and what all ze well groomed women she have. You say you leave everysing to Marie. Why not now you do as you say—pourquoi?”
“Very well, I’ll go through with this thing, now that I’ve started—have it your own way.” Marjorie settled down resignedly, clenching her fists as if preparing for a serious operation.
When the brows were carefully arched, Marie started in with the bottles. First, the grayish complexion was transformed into a pearly whiteness, to which was added a slight tinge of blush rose, from a tiny jar, at the sight of which Marjorie shuddered inwardly and closed her eyes. Then came a touch of carmine to the lips, and a carefully studied tracing of mascara to the eyes.
“S’il vous plait, Madame. Do not look in ze mirror until aftair I have you feenish. I want zat it be—surprise.”
Marie began a vigorous brushing of the heavy strands of hair, the lifelessness of which she remedied considerably with a little brilliantine. After arranging a most becoming and modish coiffeur, she entered the clothes closet and carefully surveyed the dresses.
“Mon Dieu,” Marie groaned inwardly, as her eyes wandered over the rows of unattractive garments. Finally, after much deliberation, she selected a gown of black lace. The skirt with its double flounce swept the ground evenly, and the V-shaped neck was filled in with silk net, which formed a high collar, boned to run up behind the ears. The same material was gathered from the elbow sleeve of lace to the wrist.
“Now, Madame will please to slip on ze dress while I make ze alteration.”
Marjorie stood patiently, while Marie measured and pinned up the flounces so that they hung gracefully just above the ankles.