and scallops, netted invisibly, set with brilliant pins. There was
not an inch of her whole beautiful little person that would not
have survived a critical inspection. Her skin, her white throat,
her arms and hands and fingernails, her waist and ankles and her
pretty feet, were all absolute perfection. The illusion that
veiled her slender arms stood at crisp angles; the silk stockings
showed a warm skin tint through their thinness; her lower eyelids
had been skillfully darkened, her cheeks delicately rouged, and
her lips touched with carmine; her brows had been clipped and
trained and pencilled, her lashes brushed with liquid dye, and
what fragrant powders and perfumes could add, had been added in
generous measure. She wore diamonds on her fingers, in her ears,
and about her throat, and her gown was held at her full smooth
breast by a platinum bar that bore a double line of magnificent
stones. Harriet always thought her handsome; to-night she had to
admit that her employer was truly beautiful.

Mrs. Carter was in a pleasant mood; she had a good disposition,
and there was nothing in her life now to ruffle it. She liked her
bright, luxurious dressing room, and the progress of her toilette
was soothing and restful. Her maid had been busy with her for
nearly two hours. The air was warm and fragrant, the prospect of
dinner, with its eagerly attendant Tony, rather stirred her, and
the mirror had everything delightful to say. Like all women of
forty, Isabelle liked the night, tempered lights and becoming
settings, and the dignity of formal entertaining. Last but not
least, she had a new toy to-night, a great black fan of uncurled
wild ostrich plumes whose tumbled beauty she waved about her
slowly as Harriet came in, watching the effect in the mirror with
intense satisfaction.