“An affected ass,” she described him, with small reverence, “with the best possible opinion of himself; so crammed, as he thinks, with excellences that he firmly believes that all who look on him love him.” And it was from this intense self-conceit of Malvolio’s that this mischievous little band of conspirators--Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Feste the clown, and Maria--found means to revenge themselves by playing a humiliating trick on the pompous steward. When Viola, in the character of Cesario, reached Olivia’s house, she was at first refused admittance, but as she announced her intention of standing at the door until she had given her message, and absolutely declined to take any denial, Olivia at last consented to see her. “Give me my veil,” she said to Maria. “Come, throw it over my face. We will once more hear Orsino’s embassy;” and Viola, attended by four or five servants of the Duke, was ushered into her presence. “The honourable lady of the house, which is she?” she demanded. “Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?” said Olivia curtly. “Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,” began Viola, with high-flown gallantry, and enjoying the humour of her own words, for, as Olivia was closely veiled, she could not see whom she was addressing. Not in the least abashed, however, by that lady’s stately dignity, she begged permission to deliver her message, and to speak it to Olivia alone. The quaint impertinence of the pretty lad, his ready wit, and his noble bearing, took Olivia’s fancy, and, instead of dismissing him abruptly, as had been her first intention, she sent away her attendants and bade him speak on. But when Viola uttered Orsino’s name, Olivia, as usual, drew back. Even from this messenger she had no wish to hear of Orsino’s devotion, and she checked him rather abruptly. [Illustration: Look you, sir. Is it not well done?] “Have you no more to say?” she added. “Good madam, let me see your face,” pleaded Viola, for she longed to behold the lady who could so enchant Duke Orsino. “Have you any commission from your lord to see my face?” asked Olivia, not ill-pleased. “You are now out of your message; but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one I am now. Is it not well done?” She threw back her veil, and her dazzling beauty shone forth in all its radiance. Viola gazed at her in admiration. “Excellently done, if God did all,” she murmured, for she could scarcely believe such loveliness of tint could be natural. “’Tis in grain, sir; it will endure wind and weather,” replied Olivia. “It is beauty truly blent, whose red and white were laid on by Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand,” said Viola. “Lady, you are the cruellest person alive if you let these graces go down to the grave and leave the world no copy.”