To one who protested that she would not know how to rouge: “You don’t need to tell me, my dear, anything self-evident. You shouldn’t put so much in the center of your cheeks. Natural color _spreads_. That’s the first lesson I give our sales-girls. Start with a dab on the chin, next a suggestion on your forehead between the eyes, then quite a bit on the lobes of the ears, where all color starts. Only with these high spots tinted to guide you can you hope for a natural effect. When you’re going out, ask for my booklet, ‘If You Must Rouge, Rouge Right.’ They’ll give you a copy free. Now, please, girls over twenty, fall out!” Again hesitation, reproaches and complaints were met with uncompromising firmness. Dolores never understood how it happened, for long since she had given up. She made no plea to Mrs. Hutton, nor did Mrs. Hutton say anything in particular to her. In fact, if the forewoman showed any notice of her other than of an automaton, it looked to be dislike, not approval. Yet, at the last, after the most impersonal of appraisals, she found herself among the fittest five. As one, they were waved between the curtains of gray and lavender chintz. The “studio” might have been milady’s boudoir. Of violet velvet were the carpets and hangings. The spindly Hepplewhite furniture wore modulated tapestry. There was bric-a-brac scattered about. On the walls hung etchings. Vincent Seff had removed his homespun coat for a smoking jacket of embroidered lavender silk, with which the more delicate tone of his shirt and tie blended satisfyingly. He did not rise as they entered; indeed, did not glance up for several minutes afterward. He was lolling upon a _chaise lounge_, at work over a drawing--some garment design, presumedly, as he kept glancing at a rack beside him over which hung several strips of sheer, vari-tinted fabrics. With a sigh of reluctance he laid down the drawing-board, selected a cigarette from a gold cigarette case and leisurely lighted it. Only after several deep inhalations did he yield his attention to the nervous bevy ranged before him. Pleasure covered the regret on his face as he surveyed them. He sat straight; studied them one by one. “This _is_ cruel--the most exquisite cruelty!” Aloud came exclamation at last. He reconsidered the stuffs on the rack. Leaning over, he touched them. “Beautiful, aren’t they? Surely the possession and feel of such things should be enough--enough.” His gaze, again shifting, fixed upon the pansy eyes of a silver blonde whom, from the first, Dolores had admired most. “Come closer, Dresden shepardess,” he invited. It was all over, settled, Dolores thought. Those defeated should be the last to deny the _petite_ creature’s claim to election, so soft were the curves of her figure, so alluring her tints of white, pink, blue and palest gold.