Page:The Tattooed Countess (1924).pdf/63

 hideous she was this morning, without make-up, or with the modicum of make-up she had put on in her half-deference to her sister's wishes! She was, she assured herself, downright ugly this morning. She would look no better than her old friends in Maple Valley and they would exult over this. How old Ella looks! she could hear them say. Well, she would show them. On the instant, she determined to pay no heed to Lou's views in this matter, to disregard them utterly, as she had already disregarded her views in relation to smoking, and this new thought reminded her that she had not yet enjoyed her after-breakfast smoke, the most important cigarette of the day, she believed, as it was her superstition that it acted as a laxative. She lighted a cigarette, and as she began to puff, her brain cleared; she felt more content. The lines, she was sure, would disappear under this indulgence. It was self-denial that created wrinkles. She was a woman to whom self-indulgence was the breath of life; she could not tolerate the idea of denying herself anything.

Recalling now that Lou was in the kitchen, she wondered vaguely if she could help; she would be expected, doubtless, to make herself useful in some capacity or other. As she pushed open the swinging baize door she tried to conceive a concrete idea of what a reception in Maple Valley would be like. She could remember no receptions in her young days. Her imagination, filled, as it was, with memories of