Looking at myself again with a critical eye, I am again dissatisfied. I may appear older, I certainly do not present so pleasing a _tout ensemble_; so, with much vicious haste, I once more draw out the hair-pins and let my straight brown hair hang according to its fancy. Being now at last convinced I am to be seen at my best, I proceed to act upon the thought that has caused all this unwonted vanity, I go softly to Marmaduke's dressing-room door, armed with my brush and begin to batter at it pretty loudly. "Marmaduke, Marmaduke!" I cry, but obtain no answer. That he is within is beyond all doubt, as every now and then through the thick oaken door I can hear a sound or two. Again I exercise my lungs, again I batter at the door. "'Duke--Marmaduke!" I cry once more, impatiently. "What do you want?" demands my husband, in a voice that sends my heart into my blue slippers. "I want to get in," I return, as meekly as one can, when one's tone is raised to the highest pitch. "You cannot now; I am busy." "But I must. 'Duke, do open the door. I have something of the utmost importance to say to you." After a moment or two I can hear him coming slowly to the door. In another instant he has unlocked it, and is standing in the doorway in an attitude that is plainly meant to bar my further approach. "Won't you let me in?" I say. "I want to speak to you; I have something to tell you." Here I make a dive under the arm he had placed against one side of the door as a prudent barricade, and gain the dressing-room. Having so far succeeded, I pause to glance timidly at him. He has divested himself of his coat and waistcoat, and has evidently been brushing his hair, as it is smooth to the last degree and has about it a general air of being ready to enter a ball-room at a moment's notice. "You might be going to a reception, your hair is so beautifully dressed," I say, with a weak attempt at raillery and composure. "Did you nearly break down the door to come and tell me that?" asked he, without a vestige of a smile. Once again my eyes seek the carpet. All my affected nonchalance deserts me. I feel frightened. Never before has his voice sounded go harsh when addressed to me. I put my hands behind me, and grasp nervously the torrent of hair that flows down my back. For the second time it occurs to me how abominably young I must be looking. Somehow the word "Doll" writes itself before my lowered eyes. "No," I say, in a whisper. "I came to ask you to forgive me to tell you I am very sorry for it all." "Are you? I am glad of that. In my opinion you could not be too sorry." "Oh, 'Duke, do not be _too_ hard on me. I did not mean to make you so very angry. I did not think there was any harm in what I did."