She is invited, in a hope that young Brown may make her a partner, for the dance of life; and is said to be worth L150,000--not by the pound weight, as the envious Miss Gay hinted.--No! No! naughty Miss Gay, be satisfied with Nature's gifts, and do not covet lucre. Here comes young Brown, who has not danced before, to make arrangements with Miss Gay, who has--and proved herself the _belle_ of the room;--but, as gentlemen are now in the minority, she does not hint at being "engaged for the next," or propose "the one after." There is a temporary lull, after the dance:--and in comes Captain de Camp, looking like a macaw in a dress-coat, leading Lady Lucretia de Camp, who resembles an apoplectic canary--so glittering is the amber satin,--followed by the sons, who meander amongst the beaux and bare shoulders, in search of the Miss Browns--dancing with no one else all the evening,--causing the gentlemen to think very little of the De Camps, and the ladies less of the Miss Browns. Now, then, for a polka!--the rattling "Post knock Polka!"--Off! away they go, after a great deal of reluctance and playful diffidence as to who should lead off--Miss Charmer with Arthur Beau, twirling round and round, in and out (like an eel among skittles); followed by Mr. Latimer and Miss Jemima, who evidently intended to do great things, but only cause confusions and contusions, until they get knocked into the open space, in the centre of the human vortex--the Charmer spinning, as a top that could not stop, while the music continued, like the automata in front of a street organ. There, there they go!--that is Lord Towney--he who came with Mr. Serjeant Wideawake, the Honourable Member for Bloomsbury--the fellow who got acquainted with Brown, as brother-director of the "Dodo Assurance," that didn't do, and was done up. His Lordship is son of the Marquis of Mary-le-bone--he that is flying with the pink flounces,--the buoyant, hollow, Miss Price, whose pretty button of a nose we do believe was impressed with the basket-work on her partner's fourth shirt-stud. Round and round they twist--backwards, forwards, and sideways,--between parties parted, and openings that close again,--faster and faster,--smiling, frowning, and apologizing,--growing swifter and swifter,--until the floor snapped, and rebounded with an awful crash. * * * * [Illustration]