“Oh, but this one’s home-made!” declared Beatrice.  “Look here!  It says:  ’Take an ounce of spermaceti, and melt it in a pan with a teacupful of rose water.  When thoroughly mixed, add an ounce of Vodax, which may be obtained from any chemist, stir until quite cold, then put into pots.’  I’m sure that sounds simple enough, in all conscience.”

“What about the Vodax, though?  If you went to the chemist’s you’d find it is a patent preparation, and very expensive, and it would just knock the bottom out of the ‘home-made’ theory of the recipe.”

“There must be something in all these hints, though,” said Mollie plaintively, “or the paper wouldn’t publish them every week.”

“Well, perhaps there is, to a certain extent, but just think of the time it would take to carry them out, to say nothing of the expense of cosmetics.  Here, give me the book a sec, and a piece of pencil.  I want to make a calculation.  Now, if you really follow ‘Lady Marjorie’s’ advice, your day will run something like this.  It’s a kind of beauty time-table: 

Face Massage, Morning 10 minutes " " Evening 10 "
Hair Drill, Morning 15 " " " Evening 15 "
Application of cloths wrung out in hot water to face daily 30 "
Breathing Exercises 15 "
Physical " 15 "
Manicure 5 "
Oatmeal applications 5 "
          
                                                  —–­
          
                                             Total 2 hours.

“Now, if you’re going to put in two hours every day at your toilet, it seems to me that you won’t have much time left for games, unless you can get your prep. excused on the ground that you’re studying beauty culture.  I’d like to see Bunty’s face if you asked her!”

“Don’t be piggish!” said Mollie.  “One has no need to cultivate a tough skin, just because one’s fond of cricket and hockey.  I hate to see girls with hard red cheeks and freckles.”

It was certainly not possible to obtain Mrs. Courtenay’s lavender cream or any other toilet specialties at the Camp.  Beatrice and Mollie, however, impressed with the necessity of preserving their complexions, commandeered some of the buttermilk which was sent daily from the farm, and dabbed it plentifully over their faces before retiring to bed, following the application with massage to the best of their ability.  They were emulated in these toilet rites by Agatha James, Mary Payne and Olave Parry, who also studied the beauty hints columns, and liked to try experiments.  One day Agatha found an entirely new suggestion in a copy of “The Ladies’ Portfolio.”  A correspondent wrote strongly advocating common salt as a hair tonic.  It was to be rubbed in at night, and brushed out again in the morning.