"I'll lend you some of my lotion," said Judy, jumping up; "you can cover
it over, if you try, with that and powder. It doesn't look anything
really. I always think one sees one's own spots long before anyone else
can, anyway."

"Yes, that's true; it will be all right if I can prevent it getting
any worse. You never have any spots, you lucky baby. Just hand me the
lotion ... and my dressing-gown ... thanks ever so." Blanche slipped on
the wrapper, and going to the top of the little flight of stairs called
down them: "Mrs. Penticost ... my bath-water, please!"

No answer.

"Mrs. Pe-e-e-ntico-s-st," called Blanche, "I must have my bath-water! I
shall die, dear Mrs. Penticost, if I can't have my bath-water this very
moment!"

From subterranean distance came a muffled voice which nevertheless
enunciated distinctly: "Die, then, damon, die...."

"Oh, Mrs. Penticost, how unkind you are!" cried Blanche, laughing. "I
don't a bit want to die to-day. I want to live and be happy and for
everyone in the world to be happy too."

These last remarks were addressed to the form of Mrs. Penticost toiling
upstairs with the can of water. The good lady clanked the can down and
pulled out the flat tin bath from under the bed before replying, which
she did over her shoulder as she was leaving the room.

"Aw!" she observed, "I'd be careful if I was you. Be cryen before