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.
"Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man at Birmingham?" said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.
Again, Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round, as if uncertain whether to call for assistance.
"I surprise you, I see, ma'am," said the old gentleman.
"Rather, I confess," replied Arabella, wondering more and more.
"I'll take a chair, if you'll allow me, ma'am," said the stranger. He took one; and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket, leisurely pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on his nose.
"You don't know me, ma'am?" he said, looking so intently at Arabella that she began to feel alarmed.
"No, sir," she replied timidly.
"No," said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; "I don't know how you should. You know my name, though, ma'am."
"Do I?" said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew why. "May I ask what it is?"
"Presently, ma'am, presently," said the stranger, not having yet removed his eyes from her countenance. "You have been recently married, ma'am?"
