She stood at a distance and contemplated Blue Bonnet thoughtfully.
"You have to study your subjects," she said finally, "to get good results. You're not red enough yet, Blue Bonnet. You can stand a lot of color."
Blue Bonnet protested.
"It isn't necessary that I should look like a house afire, is it? I'm not going to have another bit, Sue, and you needn't insist. Uncle Cliff would have a fit if he could see me; and Aunt Lucinda! mercy, she'd think I was disgraced forever. Ugh! I think I look a fright!"
She held the mirror up to her face and frowned into it impatiently.
Sue explained.
"But you've got to do it, Blue Bonnet. Why, you'd look ghastly behind the footlights without any color. Come now—please. Wet your lips and put them out—so! There, that's fine. Wee, turn up the lights on the stage and take a look at Blue Bonnet. Go to the back of the room. See if you think she's made up too much."
"Perfectly lovely!" Wee called a moment later. "You're just b-e-a-utiful! Your best friends will never know you." Which very doubtful compliment went unnoticed in the general rush and excitement.
"Now, do be careful," Sue cautioned as Blue Bonnet gave her seat to Helen Renwick, who stood patiently waiting, cold creamed to the proper consistency. "And don't, under any circumstances, use your handkerchief. You'll look like a painted sunset at close range if you do. Grease paint's terribly smeary. Please be careful, won't you?"
Blue Bonnet passed out into the wings where Wee was giving instructions right and left.