New Britain herald., 1916-01-17

1 paper, the draperieS, all ranged frOr the faintest shade of pink to the dee
 shade of an American Beauty rose. | T think it's pretty fine myself sh 1 said. Of course, you're thinking Wha l a splendid frame for such a faded
 wornout picture as I am, but Just con 1 sider my dear, how I'd look in a room | that wasn't rose-tinted. in a blue | room, for instance. Br-rr. This ros' l tine softens me down, and enables me 1 to look at myself without shudderln& ! too much.'
 Through Betraying Eyes. Her words and tone were gay eoough but underneath detected a note of bitterness. My heart went out to her in spite of the fact that she was rouged most abominably, as usual, that her hair had been newly Touched up," and that her gown was altogether too low-cut for even an evening affair, to my eyes, let alone an afternoon at home.
 Lillian Gale must have been a very beautiful girl. She would be a fine looking woman still if she would let her hair be it's natural color, even if streaked with gray, and wipe the rouge from her face. She might look older than she does in the atrocious mask she calls her complexion, and which defies any one to tell whether the face under it is 30 or 50, but to my mind she would be much more attractive.
 How could a woman with her men talitv her success in her profession. her good -humored sanity on so many subjects, make herself so ridiculous? I asked myself the question, as I had done every time I had met her.
 My eyes must have betrayed my thoughts, for she laughed a bit harsh lv as she took up a powder puff and dashed a little more powder on her nose and checks.
 Lets Forget It.
 "Wben YOU are so old as I am, my dear and life has handed you as many knocks as it has me, you may find out that women rouge and dye their hair in a desperate effort to keep up with a procession where to lose step is fatal.'
 flushed hotly as I took off my hat and cloak. and laid them on her bed T hate tO be considered rude, and | feared that Mrs. Underwood must have read my censorious thoughts of her. I said the first thing that came into my mind, and as usual, when | am embarrassed, blundered terribly.
 '.I used to dream of a room like this when I was a very young girl about fl. Can't you imagine how girl Of that age would love this room, ana how lovely she would be in it.
 Across Mrs. Underwoods s face came the same spasm of pain that l had seen there when during the little even ing supper Dicky and l had gwen, Mrs Lester had spoken of how lovely her baby at home looked asleep.
 I had thought then that somewhere ia this woman's checkered past life there had been a child of her own. Now I was sure of it.. She had had daughter this woman who seemed the incarnation of careless, vulgar good humor There was a tragedy in the thought of the child. Was her little girl dead? Was she living, but dead to her because of that unhappy past whose story seemed always to cling to Lillian Gale?
 Mrs. Underwood had turned her face away under pretense of hunting for a handkerchief. As she turned Lack toward me I saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
 Yes, it is a young girls room,' she said. That is what l planned it for originally. But I had to take it my self
 She came toward me, and laid her hand on my arm.
 T don't know why I like you, but I de-" she said roughly. Some time, when I think you need it-and I'm afraid you are going to some time, I'll tell you the story of this room.'
 Her voice was almost solemn. I felt afraid somehow. She seemed almost sibyl-like, as if she could for see some terrible experience that was coming to me. Then her voice changed abruptly to it's usual hippant tone.
 Until then, let's forget it, and get cut to the boys. They'll be at the booze if we don't hurry up and join them.'
 Sometimes, through my aversion to Lillian Gale, my--yes, l must admit it, my jealousy of her because of the old story associating her name with Dicky's, there creeps a feeling toward her that astonishes me.