Gertrude laughed. “Oh yes, you would, when you were accustomed to it. And then just the least touch on your forehead and cheeks, and—O Lettice, my dear, you would have half London at your feet!”
“The ‘least touch’ of what?” inquired Lettice.
“Oh, just to show the blue veins, you know.”
“‘Show the blue veins!’ What can you show them with?”
“Oh, just a touch of blue,” said Gertrude, who began to fear she had gone further than Lettice would follow, and did not want to be too explicit.
“You never, surely, mean—paint?” asked Lettice in tones of horror.
“My dear little Puritan, be not so shocked! I do, really, mean paint; but not all over your face—nothing of the sort: only a touch here and there.”
“I’ll take care it does not touch me,” said Lettice decidedly. “I don’t want to get accustomed to such abominable things. And as to having half London at my feet, there isn’t room for it, and I am sure I should not like it if there were.”
“O Lettice, Lettice!” cried Gertrude amidst her laughter. “I never saw such a maid. Why, you are old before you are young.”
“I have heard say,” answered Lettice, laughing herself, “that such as so be are young when they are old.”