The good woman pretended alarm at the state of her complexion--as if her
robust health, her careful table, her good allowance of sleep, her active
circulation, and her hundred varied forms of daily exercise all went for
naught. So she sat in "parlors" with cloths tied round her neck, and let
people smear her with creams and prod her with electric needles and work
their will on her for the removal of all the "facial blemishes" that
flesh is heir to.
"My dear girl," she would call over her shoulder to Jane, "I know this is
awfully tiresome to you, and it must be very painful to see your old
friend suffering so; but if you will just wait patiently for ten or
fifteen minutes more--"
"Oh, don't mind me," Jane would respond, outwardly bored, but inwardly
interested. "I'm getting along all right. Go on enjoying your sufferings
as long as you please." And after a few of these forenoons Jane had
realized her own imperfections, and had learned the means of getting
round them.
Then Mrs. Bates would convey her unconscious pupil to the hair-dresser's.
She would abandon her gray tresses to the manipulations of operatives
skilled to show the possibilities of the natural material and the magical
supplementary powers of the unnatural; every frown occasioned by a tug,
every tear produced by a tangle, was borne cheerfully for the sake of an
ultimate good, and Jane acquired indirectly a complete knowledge of
all those preparations and processes which her preceptress felt her needs
required.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157