"Is there any powder on my face?" she demanded.
"Altogether impersonal," he assured her.
"But is there?—I detest powder!"
"So does every man—if the women only could be made to believe it. If there is one thing that is disgusting, it is a white-washed face. Let them put it on if they must, but let them rub it off—all of it. A shiny nose isn't half as bad as a powder-smeared one."
"Mr. Burgoyne, I must know if there is any powder on my face," she repeated tragically, facing him.
He looked long and carefully—so long and so carefully, indeed, that she dropped her eyes, though she did not turn her head.
"No," he answered. "There isn't a single trace."
"Did it require so long to make sure?" she asked.
"I was looking——"
"Yes—I noticed you looking," she remarked.