"Come and see Rosalie with me, first," said Duane, passing his arm through Scott's and steering him down the sunny corridor.
When they knocked, Mrs. Dysart admitted them, revealing herself in full costume, painted and powdered, the blinds pulled down, and the electric lights burning behind their rosy shades.
"It's my final dress rehearsal," she explained. "Mr. Mallett, is my hair sufficiently à la Lamballe to suit you?"
"Yes, it is. You're a perfect little porcelain figurette! There's not an anachronism in you or your make-up. How did you do it?"
"I merely stuck like grim death to your sketches," she said demurely.
Scott eyed her without particular interest. "Very corking," he said vaguely, "but I've got to go down to the hatchery with Kathleen, so you won't mind if I leave——"
He closed the door behind him before anybody could speak. Duane moved toward the door.
"It's a charming costume," he said, "and most charmingly worn; your hair is exactly right—not too much powder, you know——"
"Where shall I put my patch? Here?"
"Higher."