"But I wish you would call me 'Poppy.'"
Nevertheless, it was not until a month later that she visited Mrs. Portal. Strongly attracted by the kind, gay ways and looks of that fascinating woman, she yet feared to know her better. And she feared, too, that in the house of Mrs. Portal she might meet the man whom she knew not whether most she loved, or feared, or hated; for whose sake she gashed herself with the knives of defeat and despair. She knew that he belonged to Mrs. Portal's circle of friends, and she had heard from Sophie Cornell that the chief of these was Mrs. Capron. Mrs. Capron! That was the name in which he had bidden her good=bye, speaking in his drunkenness or delirium, she knew not which. Mrs. Capron, the splendid, milky creature, who had been with him in the rickshaw, and whom Poppy had so clearly recognised! Would she, too, recognise Poppy? The girl was not so certain now of the improbability of such a thing, for of late it seemed to her that she had begun to present a singular resemblance to herself as she had looked in those unhappy, far-off days. The strain of suffering had told upon her terribly, and her face was tragically drawn, with a sharp, childish look of suffering about her mouth, and soft, though not unlovely hollows, in her cheeks. Her eyes looked larger and more unreal for the shadows beneath them.
The day she decided to go to Mrs. Portal's found her examining herself in her glass with apprehensive eyes, keen for every defect. She was a woman now, examining her weapons for battle, and her courage misgave her as she saw her reflection. She had put on a white gown that was all simple lines and soft laces, and she really looked very young and girlish, but she hated her appearance when she thought of those two charming-looking women of the world with their eloquent clothes. What if she should meet him there and he should compare her with them? What if either the thin, vivacious, sunburnt woman, whom she herself could hardly help loving—or the regal-milky-woman of yellow chiffon should be that Loraine whom he so loved?
"With either of them what chance should I stand?" she asked herself, desperate-eyed. "Why have I got these vile, purple shadows?—and holes in my cheeks? I never had them before!" She burst into tears, and at this juncture Kykie thought fit to make her entrance unannounced with her everlasting tea-tray.
"Now, Poppy, to goodness! what you ought to do is to take off that tight frock and put on a nice cool gown and rest," said the beldame importantly.
"You're mad, Kykie—and I wish you wouldn't come into my room without knocking." Poppy made occasion to fling a towel over her hat and gloves which lay on the bed, and which it was not desirable Kykie should see.
"Ah! you needn't mind old Kykie, darling," was the response; and Poppy, unused to such blandishments, stared at the yellow face which continued to waggle archly at her.
"What will Luce say when he comes back, if I haven't taken care of you?"
The girl suddenly sickened at her tone.