Marjorie Benton locked her door, walked straight to her dressing table, and sitting down before the mirror, gazed at herself long and intently. It was time for an inventory. But even she was shocked at what she saw.
Surely, she thought, that pale, drawn face with its drooping mouth, lusterless eyes and severely arranged hair didn’t belong to her! She had been pretty and attractive once, she knew.
“Buckle up a bit.”
The words seemed to stand out before her in letters of fire. Perhaps Howard had been the instrument by which her problem would be solved. She would try it at any rate. Probably when Hugh saw her looking as other women, he would lose all desire for anyone else and she would regain her place in his heart.
It was a new Marjorie, one rejuvenated and enthused who hastened down the corridor to Elinor’s room, where she found Marie, her daughter’s maid, mending a party frock.
“Marie, will you help me a little?” she stammered in evident embarrassment.
Marjorie had never possessed a maid of her own. She could not be bothered with someone fumbling about her, and besides, her style was so simple she had always declared. It was different with Elinor. She had written to her father asking that a maid be installed for her before she returned from school. Marie arose and put aside her work.
“Oui, Madame, avec plaisir,” she answered, smiling encouragingly.
Because of Marjorie’s kind and courteous manner with all of the servants, they were genuinely fond of her.
“Do you think you could dress my hair, massage my face and—oh—sort of fix me up in general?” Marjorie blushed. “I’ve taken a notion to—to——”