She took me to the edge of the wall where a little stairs came down, and on the way we passed a boy with one side of him blue and the other green, and another man with wattles like a turkey hanging down his cheeks and a baby's rattle in his hand. I hated them all, they were streaky and hot, like a nightmare, and simply longed for my nice, clean, natural mother. But when we got to a door and knocked, a woman like a nurse came and answered it, and through her arm I could see my mother, standing in front of a looking-glass, under a gas globe with a fender over it, and she was streakier than anybody. She had a queer dress on too, with a waistband much too low, and a skirt, shortish, and her hair was yellow! That finished me, and I screamed, "Oh, Mother, where have you put your black hair?" Aunt Gerty, who was sitting on a large cane dress-basket, told me to shut my mouth, and Mother turned round and said-- "It is only a wig, dear, and the paint will wash off, and then I will kiss you. Meantime, sit down and keep still!" So I did, and watched the nurse arranging Mother as if she was a child, nothing more or less. I turned this way and that, trying to get the effect, but it was no use, I still thought she looked horrid. The others didn't think so. Aunt Gerty kept saying, "Really, Lucy, I wouldn't have believed it! A little make-up goes a long way with us poor women, I see. More on the left-hand corner of the cheek, Kate. The lighting is rather unkind here, I happen to know." So Kate put more on, and Mother kept taking more off with a shabby bit of an animal's foot she kept in her hand. She never looked at me at all, she was much too busy. Then suddenly a little scrubby boy came and said something at the door--"Garden scene on!" and went away. The nurse called Kate threw a coat over Mother, and we all three went out and down the stairs. Then for the first time I twigged what it was--a _Theatre!_ The people were acting all round us. I knew acting well enough when I saw it, but what I didn't know was behind the scenes, and goodness me, I have heard Aunt Gerty talk about it enough! I was ashamed of having been so stupid, and terribly disillusioned as well. The play was all the running away there was to be! Mother was going to be no more to Mr. Aix than taking a leading part in his play amounted to. My toothbrush literally burned in my pocket. I had been made a fool of. But when I came to think it over quietly, I did not know but what I was not rather glad. It would have been a horrid upset, this running-away idea, and I believe George secretly felt it very much, though he did swagger so and pretend he didn't care. The only thing was, perhaps he would mind Mother going on the stage even worse than running away? I longed to see him and hear what he had to say about it.