"They borrowed the eyebrow pencil and that, the night of the dress rehearsal, and they swore to bring them back—beasts! What have I to call my own? Rien! Never, never, never will I lend anything again! Il faut faire un fin, vraiment!"
It was a long hunt for Biscuits, and more than once it occurred to her that she had refused to go on the decorating committee with a view to escaping just such wearisome trotting about. When she handed the box to Suzanne and suggested that the result should be extremely pleasing to justify such toil, the red spot in the artist's either cheek and her wide-opened eyes indicated the happy absorption to which no effort seems worthy of mention. Biscuits, not allowed to enter the room, sat wearily on the stairs, longing to go home but unwilling to abandon Suzanne. It was very nearly six, and she was not dressed; she had left the necessary perusal of The Works of Christopher Marlowe till late in the day, thinking to devote the evening to it; she took little interest in Evangeline Potts, and she did not care much for dancing.
But for the moment her resentment vanished when Suzanne called her in and she beheld the object of her labors under the gaslight in a carefully darkened room. Her milk-white shoulders rose magnificently from folds of auburn velvet that her wonderful hair repeated in loose waves about her face and a great mass low on her neck. Her long, round arms gleamed against the black of her skirt and melted into the glow of her velvet girdle. In the white light her freckles paled and her eyes turned wholly brown, and said mysterious things that could never by any possibility have occurred to her.
"Tiens! J'ai eu la main heureuse, n'est-ce pas? Vous la trouvez charmante?" said Suzanne, turning her about as if she had been a dummy and indicating her opinion that the back view was, if anything, more satisfying than the front.
"You're a genius, Suzanne! She's simply stunning! How did you do it?"
Suzanne smiled. "C'est pas grand' chose," she said modestly. But she looked contentedly at Evangeline and loosened her hair a little. "Now remember, don't put on those hideous rings," she commanded, "and don't wear anything on your head. Do you dance well?" she added.
Evangeline hesitated. "I dance a little," she replied, "pretty well, I guess."
Suzanne promptly encircled her waist and whistled a waltz. After a few turns she stopped.
"You dance very badly," she said encouragingly. "If I were you, I'd sit out most of them. You can say it bores you—they'll be glad enough. Besides, you might get red and then you'd not be pretty. Now don't move about much, and when Miss Kitts brings you the white roses put them just where I told you.
"Very well," said Evangeline, and as the other two prepared to go she gave them one of her long, slow smiles. "I'm much obliged to you both, I'm sure," she said; "you've been very kind."