“I’ll dance with the widow,” said the stranger.

“Who is she?” inquired Mr. Tupman.

“Don’t know⁠—never saw her in all my life⁠—cut out the doctor⁠—here goes.” And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaning against a mantelpiece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful and melancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr. Tupman looked on, in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly; the little doctor danced with another lady; the widow dropped her fan; the stranger picked it up, and presented it⁠—a smile⁠—a bow⁠—a curtsey⁠—a few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up to, and returned with, the master of the ceremonies; a little introductory pantomime; and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places in a quadrille.