No, it's not vanity, either.

It's--well--you see, she's trying to get him back, to look like a sport." Constance thought of the hopeless fight so far which the little woman was waging to keep up with the dashing actress.

Then she thought of Warrington, of last night, of how he had sought her, so ready, it seemed, to leave even the "other woman." Then Floretta's remark repeated itself mechanically.

"We have to do some tall scheming to keep them apart." Was Stella here, after all?
Mrs.Warrington was not a bad looking woman and in fact it was difficult to see how she expected to be improved by cosmetics that would lighten her complexion, bleaches that would flaxen her hair, tortures for this, that, and the other defect, real or imagined.
Now, however, she was a creature of reinforcements, from her puffy masses of light hair to her French heels and embroidered stockings that showed through the slash in the drapery of her gown.
Constance felt sorry for her, deeply sorry.

The whole thing seemed not in keeping with her.