I made my way to the foot of the ladder, and observed her narrowly.

I saw that her ankles were thick, and her elbows red.

The illusion was all over.

The spangles had lost their lustre, and the poppies their glow.

I no longer hated the harlequin, or envied the clown, or felt anything but mortification at my own folly.
"Miss Angelina Lascelles, indeed!" I said to myself, as I sauntered moodily home.