e well-trained
servant dropped on to the corner of the bed the things she held in her
hands, and was gone.

For some unaccountable reason Leonetta at the same time felt a tremor of
apprehension pass slowly over her, and her hands grew icily cold. She
could feel her mother's masterful will in the atmosphere of the room,
and glancing tremulously askance at the widow's unfinished coiffure,
every line of which seemed crisp with power, walked over to the
hearth-rug.

Mrs. Delarayne's redness had now vanished. She was if anything a little
pale, and she turned to face her daughter.

"I am not angry, Leo," she began with terrifying suavity, "but I felt I
really could not explain all these things to you,"--she waved a hand
over the mass of articles displayed on the dressing-table,-- "in front
of Wilmott. You see, servants have to take these things for granted
without explanation."

Leonetta felt her ears beginning to burn furiously. Her mother could be
terrible.

"Yes, you see now," continued the widow, "how worrying and how difficult
are the means which I have to use to make myself presentable. Age is a
tiresome thing, is it not? It is so much more simple when one is young."

The invincible "Warrior" smiled kindly, and saw that tears were
gathering in her daughter's eyes.

"Would you perhaps like me to go through these things with you, and
explain them to you one by one?" she continued. "I have had to learn it
all myself. I might save you a good many pitfalls in the remote future."

Leonetta's throat was dry, and her lips were parched.

"No, thank you," she replied hoarsely, and she made quickly towards the
door.

"You have not told me what you wanted to say," said her mother
playfully.

"I'll tell you later on," rejoined the girl in broken tones.

"Then will you please ring for Wilmott?" said Mrs. Delarayne, turning
calmly to face her mirror again.

And after savagely pressing the bell, the flapper vanished.

With her eyes blinded by stinging tears, and feeling very much more
maddened by regret than by mortification, Leonetta fled to her room. She
was not only staggered, she was also thoroughly ashamed. A boy suddenly
butted by a lamb, which he had believed he might torment with impunity,
could not have felt more astonished. A convert brought face to face with
the livid wounds which, in her days of unbelief, she had inflicted upon
a Christian martyr could not have felt more deeply dejected and
penitent. Like