'I must have a dance of some kind, you know,' said Mr Folair. 'You'll
have to introduce one for the phenomenon, so you'd better make a PAS DE
DEUX, and save time.'

'There's nothing easier than that,' said Mr Lenville, observing the
disturbed looks of the young dramatist.

'Upon my word I don't see how it's to be done,' rejoined Nicholas.

'Why, isn't it obvious?' reasoned Mr Lenville. 'Gadzooks, who can help
seeing the way to do it?--you astonish me! You get the distressed lady,
and the little child, and the attached servant, into the poor lodgings,
don't you?--Well, look here. The distressed lady sinks into a chair, and
buries her face in her pocket-handkerchief. "What makes you weep, mama?"
says the child. "Don't weep, mama, or you'll make me weep too!"--"And
me!" says the favourite servant, rubbing his eyes with his arm. "What
can we do to raise your spirits, dear mama?" says the little child.
"Ay, what CAN we do?" says the faithful servant. "Oh, Pierre!" says
the distressed lady; "would that I could shake off these painful
thoughts."--"Try, ma'am, try," says the faithful servant; "rouse
yourself, ma'am; be amused."--"I will," says the lady, "I will learn
to suffer with fortitude. Do you remember that dance, my honest friend,
which, in happier days, you practised with this sweet angel? It never
failed to calm my spirits then. Oh! let me see it once again before I
die!"--There it is--cue for the band, BEFORE I DIE,--and off they go.
That's the regular thing; isn't it, Tommy?'

'That's it,' replied Mr Folair. 'The distressed lady, overpowered by old
recollections, faints at the end of the dance, and you close in with a