times in the cottage every Sunday afternoon. He always took tea with them on Sunday. . . . And Hobbs! One could scarcely imagine Miss Pearsall caring for him. She was so extremely refined. But Love laughed at Manners. Really, he was an unmannerly little rascal himself. . . . Hobbs had been to church twice lately. After all Miss Pearsall would make a charming mistress for Durras.
Derek saw that Mr. Ramsey was giving sharp glances at Fawnie's face. He turned and looked at her himself, and almost dropped his fork in horror at what he saw. Evidently when she had been at the chemist's she had bought some atrocious face powder and in the seclusion of the bedroom had wantonly smeared her cheeks with it. It must have been intended for a strawberry blonde, for it was a light pink with a strong hint of mauve that stood out on her dusky face with terrible effrontry.
Derek, flushing red himself, whispered to her fiercely: "Go upstairs and rub that powder off your face. Get it every bit off, and fetch the baby. We're going."
"But I haven't finished my pudding."
"Do as I tell you."
Fawnie rose, and with bent head glided from the room. The Vicar moved near to Vale. "Poor child," he said, "they have given her the wrong tint. . . . Now there is a powder," lowering his voice confidently, "I've read about it in the advertisements—for really dark skin. It's called Rachel, I believe. If she got that I believe it would answer nicely."
"Rachel"—repeated Vale, comforted by the Vicar's sympathetic attitude.
"Yes, Rachel. Probably pronounced in the French way Rachelle. . . . I think your wife is charming to look at; and full of intelligence, one can see. I'm sure you have never regretted that I advised you in this matter."
