feels it quite one's duty to let him know how
she gets herself up. His eyes should be opened to the rouge and the
Egyptian eye-stuff."

While she is mumbling all this, they come into a square landing, off
which two rooms open. Both are brilliantly lighted and have been turned
into cosey boudoirs for the occasion.

In one of them, only half concealed by a looped curtain from those
without, stand two figures, Olga Bohun and the "poor lad" who is to have
his eyes opened.

They are as wide open at present as any one can desire, and are staring
thoughtfully at the wily widow, who is gazing back just as earnestly
into them. Both he and Olga are standing very close together beneath the
chandelier, and seem to be scanning each other's features with the
keenest scrutiny.

So remarkable is their demeanor, that not only Bella but her mother and
Madam O'Connor refrain from further motion, to gaze at them with growing
curiosity.

There is nothing sentimental about their attitude; far from it; nothing
even vaguely suggestive of tenderness. There is only an unmistakable
anxiety that deepens every instant.

"You are sure?" says Olga, solemnly. "Certain? Don't decide in a hurry.
Look again."

He looks again.

"Well, _perhaps_! A _very_ little less would be sufficient," he says,
with hesitation, standing back to examine her countenance more safely.

"There! see how careless you can be," says Olga, reproachfully. "Now,
take it off with this, but lightly, _very_ lightly."

As she speaks, she hands him her handkerchief, and, to the consternation
of the three watchers outside, he takes it, and with the gentlest touch
rubs her cheeks with it, first the one, and then the other.

When he had finished this performance, both he and she stared at the
handkerchief meditatively.

"I doubt you have taken it _all_ off," she says, plaintively. "I
couldn't have put more than that on, and surely the handkerchief has no
need of a complexion; whilst I----It must be all gone now, and I was
whiter than this bit of cambric when I put it on. Had I better run up to
my room again, or----"

"Oh, no. You are all right; indeed you are. I'd say so at once if you
weren't," says Ronayne, reassuringly. "You are looking as lovely as a
dream."

"And my eyes?"

"Are beautifully done. No one on earth could find you out," says Ulic,
comfortably; after which they both laugh merrily, and, quitting the
impromptu boudoir, go down to the ballroom.

Mrs. Fi