The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was
instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-
stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so
suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no
time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A
robber? Some evil-minded person who had seen him come
upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was
he to do?
The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of
his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself,
was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the
curtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly
resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so
that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap,
and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage and
looked out.
Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing
before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, in yellow curl-
papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their 'back-
hair.' However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that
room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there
for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her,
which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had
stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away,
like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small piece of water.
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