The dark eyes glowed, the lids delicately shadowed, fine brows curving in natural arches above. The lips were soft and pleasantly rounded, and below each high cheekbone there was a fragile hollow. It was a face I had seen thousands of times as I stared into the mirror. The coloring was entirely different, but the features were almost identical. The hair fell in natural waves, so rich in color that the black had dark blue sheens. “I had to do it,” she said. “I never suspected,” I replied. “I am an actress,” my sister Maureen said. “A fine one, too, even if I do say so myself. Portraying Corinne Lyon was an easy task. She was quite a flamboyant old dame. The part required no subtle shadings, no real art at all. I just had to rant and rave and throw my weight about. The make up was rather difficult, but I got used to it after a while.” “Why?” I asked. “Why did you do it?” “Julia”—she whispered. “Don’t ask me. Please—just go back to the house. I never wanted to involve you in this.
