"Bother!" she murmured; "I'm getting a spot! Oh, Judy, isn't that too
bad just when I want to look nice?... Of course, he's the kind to love
me just as much with a spot, but I feel I can't love myself so much...."

"I'll lend you some of my lotion," said Judy, jumping up; "you can cover
it over, if you try, with that and powder. It doesn't look anything
really. I always think one sees one's own spots long before anyone else
can, anyway."

"Yes, that's true; it will be all right if I can prevent it getting
any worse. You never have any spots, you lucky baby. Just hand me the
lotion ... and my dressing-gown ... thanks ever so." Blanche slipped on
the wrapper, and going to the top of the little flight of stairs called
down them: "Mrs. Penticost ... my bath-water, please!"

No answer.

"Mrs. Pe-e-e-ntico-s-st," called Blanche, "I must have my bath-water! I
shall die, dear Mrs. Penticost, if I can't have my bath-water this very
moment!"

From subterranean distance came a muffled voice which nevertheless
enunciated distinctly: "Die, then, damon, die...."

"Oh, Mrs. Penticost, how unkind you are!" cried Blanche, laughing. "I
don't a bit want to die to-day. I want to live and be happy and for
everyone in the world to be happy too."

These last remarks were addressed to the form of Mrs. Penticost toiling
upstairs with the can of water. The good lady clanked the can down and
pulled out the flat tin bath from under the bed before replying, which
she did over her shoulder as she was leaving the room.

"Aw!" she observed, "I'd be careful if I was you. Be cryen before
night!"

"Cheery old thing!" grimaced Blanche. "Do go and see she gets breakfast
ready quickly, Judy. She'll do anything for you."

Judy flung herself downstairs and upon the neck of Mrs. Penticost, who
called her a lamb, bade her get out of the way and sit down while she
got her a cup of tea and some bread and butter to keep her going till
that lazy faggot overstairs should have put enough mucks on her face to
be able to breakfast.

The day brightened, though still with a curious pallor that was more
glare than sunlight, and both girls put on cool muslin dresses, or as
cool as the long full skirts would allow of their being. Vassie was in
blue, Phoebe in pink, Judy in primrose, while Blanche was white even
to her shady hat. Girls never look as well as when there are several of
them together, just as men never look so ill as in a crowd. What brings
out all