“This is the room, is it?” said the gentleman. “You may go.”

The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman could be, and what he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting till he was out of sight, tapped at the door.

“Come in,” said Arabella.

“Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,” murmured the little old gentleman; “but that’s nothing.” As he said this, he opened the door and walked in. Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on beholding a stranger⁠—a little confused⁠—but by no means ungracefully so.

“Pray don’t rise, ma’am,” said the unknown, walking in, and closing the door after him. “ Mrs. Winkle, I believe?”

Arabella inclined her head.