literally sank into a chair.

Valentia was perfectly equal to the occasion. She thoroughly enjoyed the
baffling of Mrs. Wyburn.

"I can't think why Romer didn't tell you," she repeated several times,
"that Van Buren is giving a dinner for the fancy ball!" and she rang and
gave orders that her husband and sister were to come down immediately.

Romer had been four hours dressing; Daphne about ten minutes.

"I do think you ought to have a little make-up. Will you?" said Valentia
to Vaughan.

"I should love to," he answered, to Mrs. Wyburn's disgust and horror,
looking in the glass and taking very little notice of the indignant old
lady.

"He _does_ need just a touch of lip-salve and a little black under the
eyes, don't you think so?" Valentia asked, caressingly, pretending to
consult Mrs. Wyburn.

"I can't say, I'm sure. I've no idea what he wants," said Mrs. Wyburn
with a snap.

"But don't you think it would improve him, darling?" Valentia went on,
holding her head on one side and holding up her hand as if she were
looking at a picture.

"Not at all," said Mrs. Wyburn.

"Then do you think his lips are red enough already?" asked Valentia.

Vaughan hastily interrupted the absurd discussion.

"The human lip is never red enough," he said decidedly; "they ought to
be bright, light scarlet."

"That's just what I think. I've got some lovely scarlet stuff--the
colour of sealing-wax. Shall I fetch it for you?"

"Yes, do," he said.

"But won't it look rather----"

"No; merely decent," said the young man decidedly.

"And what does Romer say to _all this_?" said Mrs. Wyburn with a forced
smile and a voice trembling with uncontrollable rage.

"Oh, he likes it, darling. He loves it. No one's been so keen about
their dress as Romer. I'll go and fetch him, and my roll of parchment--I
had forgotten my roll of parchment."

She ran upstairs and came down saying--

"Romer won't be a minute, dear; he's awfully anxious for you to see his
dress. He's just darkening his eyelashes. That's all. He's Louis XIX or
something, you know."

She then deliberately and openly drew Vaughan to the window where there
was still bright June daylight and painted his lips a brilliant scarlet
to their mutual satisfaction and Mrs. Wyburn's unspeakable horror.

"Mad," murmured Mrs. Wyburn, half to herself, "quite mad! I shall be
quite upset for the Trott-Hellyers' dinner-party. It's Dr.
Trott-Hellyers' birthday. He only _lives_ three do