"Have you a thick veil?" asked Cyril.
"There is a long one attached to the bonnet, but we never pull it over our faces, and I am afraid if Mrs. Thompkins did so, it would attract attention."
"Yet something must be done to conceal her face."
The nurse thought for a moment.
"Leave that to me, sir. I used to help in private theatricals once upon a time."
"That is splendid! I will go downstairs now and wait till you have got Mrs. Thompkins ready."
"Give me a quarter of an hour and you will be astonished at the result." She seemed to have thrown her whole heart into the business.
When Cyril returned, he found Priscilla really transformed. Her yellow curls had been plastered down on either side of her forehead. A pair of tinted spectacles dimmed the brilliancy of her eyes and her dark, finely-arched eyebrows had been rendered almost imperceptible by a skilful application of grease and powder. With a burnt match the nurse had drawn a few faint lines in the girlish face, so that she looked at least ten years older, and all this artifice was made to appear natural by means of a dingy, black net veil. A nurse's costume completed the disguise.
"You have done winders, nurse. I can't thank you enough," he exclaimed.
"Don't I look a fright?" cried Priscilla a little ruefully.