“Oh, my ugly face!” “Ugly! As far as that comes to, Miss Vibart, there’s ugly beauties, and there’s charming--well, charming uglinesses, since that’s your own word. I’d never call a lady ugly who’d so fine a figure, and so bright an eye--and if your mouth is a bit wide, Miss, sure your teeth are a picture; and if your nose is a trifle snub, there’s something so merry and arch in the way it cocks when you smile, that I for one would not have you different. I vow I would not!” Pamela was in the act of passing the Beauty’s fine gown over Cinderella’s shoulders, and as she twitched it into place she proceeded with fresh energy. “What’s the matter with you, Miss, is that you’ve been so set aside that you’re afraid to smile and be merry. Let yourself go to-night, and you’ll see----” “Why, ’twill be right enough,” said Sarah ruefully, “so long as I’m masked--all the dancing ladies are to be masked, you know. I’m not afraid but I can hold my own then. ’Tis the thought that all the while people are looking at me they’re saying ‘poor girl,’ and comparing me with sister. However I may get on with my partner at the rout to-night, the moment I take off my mask----” “Now, don’t go for to say that, Miss! You haven’t seen the head I’ve got in this bandbox. One would think,” cried the milliner enthusiastically, “that your good angel had inspired me, for I’ve got here the very mode to match Miss Jane’s brocade and to suit you. Well, there! there won’t be no gentleman at the ball to-night, wishing you was your sister. I’ll take my oath o’ that.” And indeed, when some twenty minutes later the plain Miss Vibart contemplated her image in the glass, she conceded that she might very well hold her own. By a couple of twists of clever fingers, Pamela Pounce had contrived to loosen and display her curls to an advantage hitherto undreamt of. When a hairdresser was called in, his services were not wasted on Sarah. And the “head”; what an exquisite indescribable trifle, and how becoming! The twist of silver tissue as light as the most delicate cloud, the single hint of blue, and the one full pink rose! It lent an ethereal aspect to the flying curls of powdered hair; Sarah’s small round face took a something elfin, and, as she smiled at herself, roguish, that made the milliner clap her hands and vow that she was delicious, and that her own anticipations were far exceeded. Sarah turned and hugged her unexpected friend before obeying her mother’s call. “I’ll come round to Madame Mirabel’s in the morning and tell you all about it. See if I don’t.” * * * * * Miss Sarah Vibart looked so modest and inconspicuous as she slipped into Madame Mirabel’s hat shop on the thundery June morning after the Masked Rout at Hampshire House, that Miss Popple deemed it not worth her while to enquire what her pleasure might be.