Miss Wilkeson giggled, and took a fly’s sip from the brim of her glass.

Tiffles heaved a sigh.  “We bachelors are poor, unhappy fellows, really to be pitied.”

“You are horrid creatures—­you know you are—­and deserve no pity from us!” Miss Wilkeson played her frisky, juvenile part admirably.

“So charming, and yet so cruel!” said Tiffles, uttering the first preposterous compliment that he thought of.

“You flatterer!” said Miss Wilkeson, beating a breeze toward him with her fan.

Tiffles, observing that matters were coming to a crisis, paused.  Miss Wilkeson interpreted his silence as another attack of timidity.  Time was valuable to her, and this kind of conversation might be kept up all night, and amount to nothing.  She resolved upon her final coup.

“Oh! oh!  Mr. Tiffles, what—­what is the matter?” She looked wildly about her.

“The matter!  What matter?” exclaimed that gentleman, little suspecting what was to happen.

“The wine—­the warm weather—­something—­oh! oh!”

“With these inexplicable remarks, Miss Wilkeson dropped her fan, uttered a slight but sharp scream, and fell back in her chair, like a withered flower on a broken stalk.

“By thunder, she has fainted!” said the excited Tiffles.  He had never been in a similar dilemma, and did not know what to do.  He had heard tickling of the feet highly recommended in such cases; but that was obviously impracticable.  A dash of cold water in the face was also said to afford instant relief; but there was no water at hand.  “I must call for help,” said he.

This remark appeared to arouse Miss Wilkeson.  “Support me,” she murmured.  “I shall be better soon.”

Tiffles, all accommodation, clasped her fragile waist with an arm, and gently inclined her head upon his shoulder.  She heaved a sigh, and gave other tokens of returning animation.  Tiffles here noticed that her face had not the prevailing paleness which always accompanies fainting.  He instantly suspected the true nature of Miss Wilkeson’s complaint.

The noise of quick footsteps resounded in the entry.  Marcus, Overtop, and Maltboy had heard the sharp scream, and were rushing to the rescue.

“Good heavens! what will they say?” exclaimed Tiffles.  “Don’t be silly, Miss Wilkeson, at your time of life.”  This cutting remark was wrung from him by the annoyance and confusion of the moment.

It served as a wonderful anodyne; for Miss Wilkeson Jerked herself into an erect position, and said, “You’re a fool!”

At this juncture, before Tiffles had quite uncoiled his serpentine arms from her, and while she was looking fiery indignation at him, the door was pushed open, and the three bachelors rushed in.

“I really beg pardon,” said Marcus.  “No occasion for my services, I see—­ahem!”

“Heard a scream—­thought it was here—­no intention to intrude,” added Overtop.