"There are so many aids to beauty nowadays," said Mr. Dumaresq, "that no lady need look a day older than she likes."
"But the use of cosmetics is odious," cried Miss Semaphore. "For my part I never could understand how any one could use paints and powders."
Good breeding was not Mr. Lorimer's strong point, and, in boarding-houses, people say things to each other that elsewhere are the privilege of relatives.
"Dyes," he said, looking fixedly at Miss Semaphore's hair, "dyes are most injurious—worst of all, in fact. Horrible case in the paper the other day. A woman dyed her hair black one morning, died herself next! Instantaneous softening of the brain, they said. The stuff soaked in."
The obvious application lent point to the sally. The medical lady, who prided herself on being a fine woman, needing no aid from art, smiled broadly. She could not, however, resist saying there was no such disease as instantaneous softening of the brain.
Mrs. Dumaresq, mindful of her diplomatic training, looked so grave that a child would have suspected something wrong. Miss Semaphore murmured "How dreadful!"
