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He took out his pipe, fumbled with it, and put it back into big pocket with a trembling hand. "That will do," said Mademoiselle, with a slow smile. "I must go now to my masseuse. Good-evening." The next evening at seven the candy man came and rested his cart under the window. But was it the candy man? His clothes were a bright new check.
"I'm sure that old clock has stopped," she cried petulantly to the masseuse. "Tell me if it's ticking." "Ut's ticking," said the masseuse, patiently. Then she added, as though she were reciting: "Be mindful. Youth is a fund that can be saved up like pennies. The tenure of youth and beauty is determined by the amount and the quality " "Of relaxation," chanted Folly, breaking in.
She was holding together at the neck a thin silk wrapper whose lines strongly suggested that it was the only garment she had on. "Why should old friends stand on ceremony?" said Mrs. Belloc. "Come right up. I've been taking a bath. My masseuse has just gone." Mrs. Belloc enclosed her in a delightfully perfumed embrace, and they kissed with enthusiasm.
They say New Yorkers are always in a hurry; but I can't say as they've hurried much to make our acquaintance." Mrs. Heeny drew back to study the effect of her work. "You wait, Mrs. Spragg, you wait. If you go too fast you sometimes have to rip out the whole seam." "Oh, that's so that's SO!" Mrs. Spragg exclaimed, with a tragic emphasis that made the masseuse glance up at her. "Of course it's so.
Although her masseuse confidently assured her that she looked twenty-eight, Mrs. Hastings preferred not to put the matter to the test. She received her carefully selected dinner guests in a great library with cedarwood walls, furnished with almost Victorian sobriety, and illuminated by myriads of hidden lights.
And if young Marvell's really taken with her she'll have the run of the place in no time." This solacing thought enabled Mrs. Spragg to yield herself unreservedly to Mrs. Heeny's ministrations, which were prolonged for a happy confidential hour; and she had just bidden the masseuse good-bye, and was restoring the rings to her fingers, when the door opened to admit her husband. Mr.
I was so angry that I tried to pump my excellent friend, as she had been trying to pump me a vulgar expression, but vulgar writing is such a convenient way of writing sometimes. My first attempt to entrap the Masseuse failed completely. She coolly changed the subject. "Have I interrupted you in writing?" she asked, pointing to my Diary.
"Well I'll stay a little mite longer if you want; and supposing I was to rub up your nails while we're talking? It'll be more sociable," the masseuse suggested, lifting her bag to the table and covering its shiny onyx surface with bottles and polishers. Mrs. Spragg consentingly slipped the rings from her small mottled hands. It was soothing to feel herself in Mrs.
For, as you have found as untold thousands have found before you, and will yet find one can't squander one's youth and keep it, too! Aye, more than that. The sins of the night stare at one from one's glass on the morrow, and will not be massaged away. Take your baths, madame, in milk, or wine, or perfumed water; summon your masseuse, your beauty-doctor.
Those pleasant hostesses and maidens seemed to be in charge of departments or on duty in wards, or kitchens, or sculleries. Some of the hospitals were in Paris. I recalled one Frenchwoman in particular, because she had once explained to me the necessities of civilized life. These included a masseuse, a manicurist, and a maid to look after the lapdogs.
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