'
Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at
the festivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of
Mr. Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he
applied himself with great interest to the port wine and dessert,
which had just been placed on the table. The waiter withdrew,
and the party were left to enjoy the cosy couple of hours
succeeding dinner.
'Beg your pardon, sir,' said the stranger, 'bottle stands--pass
it round--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps,'
and he emptied his glass, which he had filled about two
minutes before, and poured out another, with the air of a man
who was used to it.
The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The visitor
talked, the Pickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every moment
more disposed for the ball. Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed
with an expression of universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle
and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep.
'They're beginning upstairs,' said the stranger--'hear the
company--fiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go.' The
various sounds which found their way downstairs announced the
commencement of the first quadrille.
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