“I was afraid it would make a dreadful difference to you,” she said, “and I suppose I should never have let you see me like this.” He made a quick movement. “No, dear,” she continued quietly, “I quite understand; but I couldn’t resist the temptation to be near you.”
“Besides,” he answered, anxious to destroy the painful impression he must have made on her, “you had written that you meant to come, if only on trial. I thought it was a mad idea, but I found it just as impossible to resist as you did, and I should have been awfully disappointed if you had not come. Of course it would have been easier for me if I had known—or if you had not done all you could to make it worse.”
She looked at him so steadily while he was speaking that he turned and met her eyes; they seemed to be laughing, though her face was grave.
“I really couldn’t paint my cheek, could I?” she asked.
“Oh, no! I did not mean that.”
“But I have,” said Miss Scott with great gravity.
“What do you mean?” asked Lionel in amazement.
“I wash it off at night,” she answered. “It comes off quite easily.”
“What?” Lionel almost sprang to his feet. “Do you mean to say——”
“Yes,” answered Miss Scott, smiling. “I’ve made up for the part. It’s well done, isn’t it? You know I belonged to the dramatic club at the college, and they thought I was rather good at it. I always did the ugly housemaids with colds in their heads and red noses.”