Her chair was most luxurious, and had her name painted on it, back and front, in very large letters, with undue obtrusiveness.

I read it from where I sat, "Lady Meadowcroft." The owner of the chair was tolerably young, not bad looking, and most expensively attired.

Her face had a certain vacant, languid, half ennuyee air which I have learned to associate with women of the nouveau-riche type--women with small brains and restless minds, habitually plunged in a vortex of gaiety, and miserable when left for a passing moment to their own resources.
Hilda rose from her chair, and walked quietly forward towards the bow of the steamer.

I rose, too, and accompanied her.

"Well ?" she said, with a faint touch of triumph in her voice when we had got out of earshot.
"Well, what ?" I answered, unsuspecting.
"I told you everything turned up at the end!" she said, confidently.
"Look at the lady's nose!" "It does turn up at the end--certainly," I answered, glancing back at her.