THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
store of old masks and they are imperfectly catalogued.”
It certainly was a beautiful mask, with its smooth, pink cheeks and devotional brows. It was made of the finest wax. Lord George took it gingerly in his hands and tried it on his face. It fitted à merveille.
“Is the expression exactly as your lordship would wish?” asked Mr. Aeneas.
Lord George laid it on the table and studied it intently. “I wish it were more as a perfect mirror of true love,” he said at length. “It is too calm, too contemplative.”
“Easily remedied!” said Mr. Aeneas. Selecting a fine pencil, he deftly drew the eyebrows closer to each other. With a brush steeped in some scarlet pigment, he put a fuller curve upon the lips. And, behold! it was the mask of a saint who loves dearly. Lord George’s heart throbbed with pleasure.
“And for how long does your lordship wish to wear it?” asked Mr. Aeneas.
“I must wear it until I die,” replied Lord George.
“Kindly be seated then, I pray,” rejoined the little man. “For I must apply the mask with great care, Julius, you will assist me!”
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