turi te salutant!"

McMurtrie, who had taken a shallow blue saucepan out of the bag and
was filling it with hot water, looked up with a smile.

"It will be all over in a minute," he said, reassuringly. "The only
trouble is keeping the wax liquid while one is actually injecting it.
One has to stand it in boiling water until the last second."

He put the saucepan on the stove, and then produced out of the bag
a little china-clay cup, which he stood in the water. Into this he
dropped a small lump of transparent wax.

We waited for a minute until the latter melted, McMurtrie filling up
the time by carefully sponging the bridge of my nose with some liquid
antiseptic. Then, picking up what seemed like an ordinary hypodermic
syringe, he warmed it carefully by holding it close to the Primus.

"Now," he said; "all you have to do is to keep perfectly still. You
will just feel the prick of the needle and the smart of the hot wax,
but it won't really hurt. If you move you will probably spoil the
operation."

"Go ahead," I answered encouragingly.

He dipped the syringe in the cup, and then with a quick movement of
his hand brought it across my face. I felt a sharp stab, followed
instantly by a stinging sensation all along the bridge of the nose.
McMurtrie dropped the syringe at once, and taking the skin between his
fingers began to pinch and mould it with swift, deft touches into the
required shape. I lay as motionless as possible, hoping that things
were prospering.

It seemed to me a long time before the job was finished, though I
daresay it was in reality only a matter of forty-five seconds. I
know I felt vastly relieved when, with a quick intake of his breath,
McMurtrie suddenly sat back and began to contemplate his work.

"Well?" I inquired anxiously.

He nodded his head, with every appearance of satisfaction.

"I think we can call it a complete success," he said. Then he stepped
back and looked at me critically from a couple of paces away. "What do
you think, Sonia?" he asked.

"I suppose it's what you wanted," she said, in a rather grudging,
ungracious sort of fashion.

"If you won't think me vain," I observed, "I should like to have a
look at myself in the glass."

McMurtrie walked to the fireplace and unhooked the small mirror which
hung above the mantelpiece.

"I would rather you waited for a couple of days if you don't mind," he
said. "You know what you used to look like better than any one else,
and i