"You can't expect to, darling; working at Whitehall as you do your
fingers are bound to get stained with nicotine. Warm water and soap is
all _I_ use. First I immerse my hands in tepid water, then I rub the
soap (you can get it at any chemist's or oil-shop) into the pores--you
'd be surprised how it lathers if you do it the right way--and then
I rinse the soap off again. I learnt that trick from watching our
washer-woman--she had such lovely hands."

"Why do you never use powder now, Estelle?" asked Rosalie. "Before the
War one could never come near you without leaving footprints."

"My reasons were partly patriotic, conserving the food supply, you
know, and partly owing to the mulatto-like tint the war-flour gave me.
One doesn't want to go about looking half-baked, does one?"

"No," we murmured, making a pretty concerted number of it.

"But wrinkles, darling Estelle," I pleaded--"do tell us what you do
for your wrinkles."

"Wrinkles," murmured Estelle, with a pretty puckering of her brow--"I
haven't any left; I've given them all to you."

[EDITORIAL NOTE.--This series will not be continued in our next
issue.]

* * * * *

"MUSICAL.