A CATASTROPHE. 2i3 



with gold dust; but what would Will Beauchamp say to Miss 

 Winterbottom, with her hundred thousand. pounds V' 



" That she might remain Miss Winterbottom to the end of 

 her life, for anything he would insinuate to the contrary, Selina ; 

 and Bob Conyers is pretty much of the same opinion." 



"Glad to hear you say so, Bob, for I began to think you 

 might be caught by a golden hook at last." 



" No, no, my dear girl ; I shall not make a fool of myself in 

 my old age by marrying a person with whom I could have no 

 community of feelings or ideas, and who does not know a duck 

 from a goose, except on the table, perhaps not there." 



" But, Bob, don't you think our funny friend opposite looks 

 rather too much of a chicken about her gills 1 " 



" What can you mean, Selina 1 " 



" Too juvenile about her locks or head gear ; don't you 

 understand ? — borrowed feathers." 



" Oh ! I see, wears a wig — gad ! it looks very like one ; but, 

 by Jupiter ! the murder's out," exclaimed he, as one of the 

 footmen, in reaching over Mrs. Winterbottom, to place a dish 

 on the table, caught the button of his sleeve in her hair, drag- 

 ging off her head-dress, and exposing her closely-cropped 

 cranium to view. 



" Drat the man ! " cried Mrs. Winterbottom, aiming a blow 

 at the astonished footman, which taking effect on Gwynne's 

 nose, nearly knocked him out of his chair. 



" What's the fool staring at 1 " (as he stood for a moment 

 perfectly aghast at the exposure he had occasioned, and then 

 tried to repair the mischief by replacing the head-dress, the 

 back part in front, thereby eliciting renewed laughter). " Let 

 it alone, I say, you stupid oaf ! " 



And, with a jerk or two on either side, the infuriated lady 

 succeeded in adjusting her attire. 



" Ah ! miss," she said, addressing Selina, " you may laugB 

 now, but the time will come when you will be glad enoi\gh to 

 sail under false colours, if you don't already, with your pink 

 and white cheeks." 



" If I do paint my face, Mrs. Summertop," retorted Selina, 

 "it isn't of one colour, like yours, red entire" 



" My name isn't Summertop, Miss Imperanse, but Winter- 

 bottom." 



" Oh, indeed, ma'am ; very aristocratic, euphonious name, 

 no doubt, in the frozen regions of Lapland, whence, I conclude, 

 your origin is derived; but the Fates defend me from being 



p 2 



