It was fortunate that Lady Brookstone—unknowingly—supplied Elizabeth with such diversion that she paid this lady the compliment of attending to her speech, dress, and habits to a far greater degree than her performance could otherwise command. Elizabeth learnt that Lady Brookstone, a widow of the middle-age from the West country, had been living in a small way at one of the faded sea-side towns, when she had been singled out for intimacy by one of the comparatively more affluent ladies who frequented the town out of deference to the greater expense of the more fashionable watering-places. Lord Brookstone had seen several wives come and go, for the various and usual reasons which are afforded those whose means place themselves beyond the reach of scandal. By the time he was introduced to the last Lady Brookstone, the gentleman had already suffered from a such a succession of fits as had left him unable to walk, almost blind, and without the power of speech; in this form came Lady Brookstone’s lover. It was as well that Lord Brookstone could not see, as his Lady’s visage was as transmogrified as the application of powders and pomatums could render a face as comely as nature had made plain. Her figure was like-wise unenviable, being short and stout, and her movements were entirely without any of those graces of which ladies are commonly possessed. She had early resorted to every art available to reconstruct where nature had erred, but with such an heavy hand, that the effect served more to accentuate the cause of her efforts, than to diminish the original defect. Lady Brookstone presented not so much a picture of any particular age or fashion, but a living warning to others as to the limitations of the cosmetic arts.