"The rouge
is still left in my box. It can't make my face more false than it is
already." She looked round toward the glass, and again turned away from
it. "No!" she said. "I have Mrs. Lecount to face as well as her master.
No paint." After consulting her watch, she left the room and went
downstairs again. It wanted ten minutes only of two o'clock.
Captain Wragge was waiting for her in the parlor--respectable, in a
frock-coat, a stiff summer cravat, and a high white hat; specklessly
and cheerfully rural, in a buff waistcoat, gray trousers, and gaiters
to match. His collars were higher than ever, and he carried a brand-new
camp-stool in his hand. Any tradesman in England who had seen him at
that moment would have trusted him on the spot.
"Charming!" said the captain, paternally surveying Magdalen when she
entered the room. "So fresh and cool! A little too pale, my dear, and a
great deal too serious. Otherwise perfect. Try if you can smile."
"When the time comes for smiling," said Magdalen, bitterly, "trust my
dramatic training for any change of face that may be necessary. Where is
Mrs. Wragge?"
"Mrs. Wragge has learned her lesson," replied the captain, "and is
rewarded by my permission to sit at work in her own room.
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