Involuntarily Regina put up her hands and passed them over her head. She had let her hair take care of itself—that did not mean that she was grey or that she had a mere whisp; she had thick and luxuriant hair, turned back from her face and done into a simple coil at the turn of the head.
“I will not write to-day,” she said to herself; “I will go and see the face specialist and the beauty specialist, and I will pay a visit to the lady of the little brown tablets, and then I will go to my tailor. Something I must have to wear every day. If I get a smart coat and skirt, something loose and chic, I can put off the rest of my wardrobe until I have got my figure down to its normal size.”
She went into the hall intending to leave a message with the cook for Julia, but the parlor-maid happened to be going through the dining-room to the pantry with a tray of silver things in her hands.
“Oh, Margaret, tell Miss Julia I shall, in all probability, not be in to lunch, and tell her not to wait for me. She will be occupied during the rest of the day.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
Then Regina sailed down the covered way and got into the omnibus which would carry her to the railway station. What a day of disappointments it was! She found the beauty specialist had not yet returned to town, and there was nobody to take her place. Not that she was unceremoniously told this at the door—oh no; she was shown into a room, and the great lady’s secretary informed her that Madame Alvara had been very unwell—she had had such a terribly heavy season—carriages standing a dozen deep at the door all day long—everybody clamoring for Madame’s own opinion—and she was so popular, socially.
“Madame will not be back until the end of the month; I can make an appointment for the first week in October.”
“Can you recommend me any harmless lotion to begin with?” said Regina.
“Oh no, I should not dare to interfere in Madame’s province; I am only the secretary; I arrange appointments, and so on.”
“But you have a skin like a rose leaf,” said Regina, wistfully.