"--and being powdered on the nose," said Miss Allonby, with firmness. She
went to the mirror, and, standing on the tips of her toes, peered anxiously
into its depths. She rubbed her nose, as if in disapproval, and frowned,
perhaps involuntarily pursing up her lips,--which Mr. Erwyn intently
regarded, and then wandered to the extreme end of the apartment, where he
evinced a sudden interest in bric-a-brac.

"Is there any powder on my nose?" said Miss Allonby.

"I fail to perceive any," said Mr. Erwyn.

"Come closer," said she.

"I dare not," said he.

Miss Allonby wheeled about. "Fie!" she cried; "one who has served against
the French, [Footnote: This was not absolutely so. Mr. Erwyn had, however,
in an outburst of patriotism, embarked, as a sort of cabin passenger, with
his friend Sir John Morris, and possessed in consequence some claim to
share such honor as was won by the glorious fiasco of Dungeness.] and
afraid of powder!"

"It is not the powder that I fear."

"What, then?" said she, in sinking to the divan beside the disordered
tea-table.

"There are two of them," said Mr. Erwyn, "and they are so red--"

"Nonsense!" cried Miss Allonby, with heightened color.