"'But why?' I stammered.
"'Women like you,' he said, 'belong to the stately, the aristocratic
type. You can be a grande dame or a duchess--and you are making of
yourself--what? A soubrette, with your tango skirt and your strapped
slippers, and your hideous head-dress--take it off.' "'But I can't take it off,' I said, almost tearfully; 'my hair
underneath is--awful.' "'It doesn't make any difference about your hair underneath--it can't
be worse than it is,' he roared. 'I want to see your coloring--take it
off.' "And I took it off. My hair was perfectly flat, and as I caught a
glimpse of myself in the mirror, I wanted to laugh, to shriek. But
Colin Quale was as solemn as an owl. 'Ah,' he said, 'I knew you had a
lot of it!' "He caught up the scarf which he had borrowed and flung it over my
shoulders. He gave a flick of his fingers against my forehead and
pulled down a few hairs and parted them. He whisked a little table in
front of me, and thrust the bunch of roses into my arms.
"'Now look at yourself,' he commanded.
"I looked and looked again. I had never dreamed that I could be like
that. The scarf and the table hid every bit of that Paris gown, and
showed just a bit of white throat. My plain parted hair and the
roses--I looked," and now Delilah was blushing faintly, "I looked as I
had always wanted to look--like the lovely ladies in the old English
portraits.
"'Do you like it?' Colin asked.
"He knew that I liked it from my eyes, and for the first time since I
had met him, he laughed.
"'All my life,' he said, 'I have been looking for just such a woman as
you. A woman to make over--to develop. We must be friends, Miss
Jeliffe. You must let me know where I can see you again.' "Well, I didn't dance any more that night. I wrapped the scarf about
my head, and went back to my hotel. Colin Quale went with me. All the
way he talked about the sacredness of beauty. He opened my eyes. I
began to see that loveliness should be suggested rather than
emphasized. And I have told you this because I want you to understand
about Colin. He isn't in love with me. I rather fancy that back home
in Amesbury or Newburyport, or whatever town it is that he hails from,
there's somebody whom he'll find to marry. To him I am a statue to be
molded. I am clay, marble, a tube of paint, a canvas ready for his
brush. It was the same way with this old house. He wanted a setting
for me, and he couldn't rest until he had found it. He has not only
changed my atmosphere, he has changed my manner--I was going to say my
morals--he brings to me portraits of Romney ladies and Gainsborough
ladies--until I seem positively to swim in a sea of stateliness. And
what I said just now about manners and morals is true. A woman lives
up to the clothes she wears. If you think this change is on the
surface, it isn't. I couldn't talk slang in a Gainsborough hat, and be
in keeping, so I don't talk slang; and a perfect lady in a moleskin
mantle must have morals to match; so in my little mantle I cannot tell
a lie."