ult of Imitation

"We are much bound to them that do succeed;
But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound
To such as fail."

--_Jean Ingelow._

It was morning. The long night with its wretchedness and discomfort had
passed, and the bright sunshine full of cheer streamed into the room,
athwart the bed where Beatrice lay, her features still hidden under the
beautifying mask. She stirred uneasily and then opened her eyes.

"Why, it's morning," she exclaimed, jumping up briskly. "Thank goodness,
I can take off this horrible thing at last. I ought to be fair as a lily
after all I've gone through. My, my how funny my face feels!" She untied
the fastenings with a sigh of relief, and threw off the poultice
thankfully.

"My skin is sticky and tight," she mused, passing one hand over her
face. "I won't look at myself until I am dressed, and then I can tell
just how I shall affect father. Let me see! I'll wear white. Adele looks
best in white. Fair people always do, I think."

True to her resolve she bathed and dressed without once approaching the
mirror. At length she was ready. She had no doubts as to the result.
Beatrice was possessed with a child's faith; still, her heart began to
beat quickly as she turned slowly and went toward the glass, keeping her
eyes downcast.

"It's just like a butterfly breaking out of the chrysalis," she told
herself nervously. "I have been an ugly grub for so long that I'm afraid
to try my new wings. Now, ready, Beatrice! One, two, three!--Look, and
see how beautiful you have become."

Smilingly she raised her eyes. The smile froze on her lips, and
consternation swept over her face. Her features were distorted and
swollen, and her skin was as yellow as saffron. With her dark eyes,
bleached hair, and white dress the effect was startling. For one long
moment the girl stared at her reflection, and then, as the full
realization of the transformation came home to her, she flung herself
upon the bed with a cry of anguish.

"It's no use," she wailed. "Everything is against me. I look worse than
ever. What shall I do? What shall I do?"

A knock sounded on the door just then, and Bee started up, fearing that
it was her father.

"Yes?" she called.

"Yer pa am a-waitin' fer yer, Miss Bee," came the voice of Aunt Fanny.
"He say de brek'fus am gittin' cole."

"Aunt Fanny, come here!" Beatrice opened the door and pulled the old
woman inside. "Look at my face! This comes from using