We were sitting round our cosy fireplace, wishing it were summer or
that we had some coal, when one of those thoughts that make me so
loved occurred to me.

"Estelle darling," I asked, though I knew, because the box was on the
mantelpiece; "how _do_ you get that lovely flush? Your nose is such a
_delicious_ tint; it reminds me of a tomato."

"I owe my colour to my fur coat," replied Estelle frankly; "you've
no idea how warm it keeps me. I think a natural glow is so much more
becoming than an artificial one."

"By the way, Madge," put in Rosalie (I'm Madge), "as you've started
the game may I ask you a question? How do you get such a lovely shine
on _your_ nose?"

"Chamois leather," I replied sweetly. (You see we're such friends we
love telling each other our boudoir secrets.)

"I wish I knew how you keep those cunning little curls, Estelle,"
sighed Beryl longingly. "_My_ hair is so horribly straight."

"It's quite easy," explained Estelle; "you can do it with any ordinary
flat-iron, though of course an electric-iron is the best. If you heat
the iron over the gas or fire (if any) it gets sooty, and if you've
golden hair, as I have this year--well. Only," she went on warningly,
"always see that you lay your curl flat on the table before you iron
it."

"I wish I could get my hands as white as yours, Beryl," I said.