The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Today you shall promise me that you will pull no more of these stunts.
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