A pretty little fist that, howsomever! thought Wiggins, as she placed the
box before him.

"Vill you have a light?"

"Thank'ye, ma'am," said he, ramming the cigar into his mouth, as if he
really intended to bolt it.

She twisted a slip of waste, and lighting it, presented it to her
admiring customer, for it was evident, from the rapt manner in which he
scanned her, that he was deeply smitten by her personal appearance.

She colored, coughed delicately, as the smoke tickled the tonsils of her
throat, and looked full at the youth. Such a look! as Wiggins asserted.
"I'm afeared as the smoke is disagreeable," said he.

"Oh! dear no, not at all, I assure you; I likes it of all things. I can't
abide a pipe no-how, but I've quite a prevalence (predilection?) for
siggers." So Wiggins puffed and chatted away; and at last, delighted
with the sprightly conversation of the lady, seated himself on the
small-beer barrel, and so far forgot his economy in the fascination of
his entertainer, that he purchased a second. At this favourable
juncture, Mrs. Warner, (for she was a widow acknowledging
five-and-twenty) ordered the grinning shop-boy, who was chopping the
'lump,' to take home them 'ere dips to a customer who lived at some
distance. Wiggins, not aware of the 'ruse,' felt pleased with the
absence of one who was certainly 'de trop' in the engrossing
'tete-a-tete.' We will pass over this preliminary conversation; for a
whole week the same scene was renewed, and at last Mrs. Warner and Mr.
Wiggins used to shake hands at parting.