The convulsive sobbing grew regular, then more slow, then merely

intermittent, and then it stopped altogether. But before she lifted her

face from the hollow of her elbow, Madame Bonanni felt about for

something with her other hand; and Margaret, being a woman, knew that

she wanted her handkerchief before showing her face, and picked it up

and gave it to her. A man would probably have taken the groping fingers

and pressed them, or kissed them, probably supposing that to be what

was wanted, and thereby much retarding the progress of events.

Madame Bonanni pushed up the handkerchief between her face and her

elbow and moved it about, with a vague idea of equalising her colour in

one general tint, then blew her nose, and then sprang to her feet at

once, with that wonderful elasticity which was always so surprising in

her sudden movements. Moreover, she got up turning her face away from

Margaret, and made for the nearest mirror.

'Lord!' she exclaimed, laconically, as she looked at herself and

realised the full extent of the damage done.

'Wouldn't you like to wash your face?' asked Margaret, following her at

a discreet distance.

'My dear,' answered Madame Bonanni, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone,

'it's awful, of course, but there's nothing else to be done!' 'Come into my dressing-room.' 'If I were at home, I should take a bath and dress over a--a--a----'

One last most unexpected sob half choked her and then made her cough,

till she stamped her foot with anger.

'Bah!' she cried with contempt when she got her breath. 'If I had often

made myself look like such a monster, I should have been a perfectly

good woman! The men would have run from me like mice from a barn on

fire! Have you got any of that Vienna liquid soap, my dear!' Margaret had the liquid soap, as it chanced, and in a few moments she

was busily occupied in helping Madame Bonanni to restore her

appearance. Though long, the process was only partially successful,

from the latter's own point of view. Having washed away all that had

been, she produced a gold box from the bag she wore at her side. The

box was divided into three compartments containing respectively rouge,

white powder and a miniature puff for applying both, which she

proceeded to do abundantly, sitting at Margaret's toilet-table and

talking while she worked. She had made more confusion in the small

dressing-room in five minutes than Margaret could have made in dressing

twice over. Paint-stained towels strewed the floor, chairs were upset,

soap and water was splashed everywhere. Now she started afresh, by

rubbing plentiful daubs of rouge into her dark cheeks.




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