To tell truth, from the beginning the idea has approved itself to Barbara and me, only that we were ashamed to say so--carrying us back in memory as it does to the days when we dressed the Brat up in my clothes as _me_, and took in all the maid-servants. I think, too, that I have a little of the feeling of faint hope that inspired Balak when he showed Balaam the Israelites from a fresh point of view. Perhaps, in carmine cheeks and a snow-white head, I may find a little of my old favor in Roger's eyes. Human wills are mostly so feeble and vacillating, that if one thorough-going determined one sticks to _any_ proposition, however absurd, he is pretty sure to get the majority round to him in time; and so it is in the present case. Mr. Parker succeeds in making us all, willing and unwilling, promise to travesty ourselves. We are not to dress till after dinner; that is over now, and we are all adorning ourselves. For once I am taking great pains, and--for a wonder--pleasant pains with my toilet. It is slightly delayed by a variety of unwonted interruptions--knocks at the door, voices of valets in interrogation, and dialogue with my maid. "If you please, Mr. Musgrave wants to know has Lady Tempest done with the rouge?" (There is only one edition of rouge, which is traveling from room to room.) Five minutes more, another knock. "If you please, Mr. Parker's compliments, and will Lady Tempest lend him a hair-pin to black his eyelashes?" I am finished now, quite finished--metamorphosed. I have suffered a great deal in the process of powdering, as I fancy every one must have done since the world began; the powder has gone into my eyes, up my nose, down into my lungs. I have breathed it, and sneezed it, and swallowed it, but "_il faut souffrir pour être belle_," and I do not grumble; for I _am_ belle! For once in my life I know what it feels like to be a pretty woman. My uninteresting flax-hair is hidden. Above the lowness of my brow there towers a great white erection, giving me height and dignity, while high aloft a little cap of ancient lace and soft pink roses daintily perches. On my cheeks there is a vivid yet delicate color; and my really respectable eyes are emphasized and accentuated by the dark line beneath them. To tell you the truth, I cannot take my eyes off myself. It is _delightful_ to be pretty! I am simpering at myself over my left shoulder, and heartily joining in my maid's encomiums on myself, when the door opens, and Roger enters. For the first instant I really think that he does not recognize me. Then-- "_Nancy!_" he exclaims, in a tone of the most utter and thorough astonishment--"_is_ it Nancy?" "_Nancy_, at your service!" reply I, with undisguised elation, looking eagerly at him, with my blackened eyes, to see what he will say next.