t.

Mrs. Orby Frimmely says, that trying to get through your favourite valse
with a bad partner... Ah!

_Mrs. O. F.'s Happy Thought._ "By the way, as it is so wet, why not have
a dance? Mr. Medford can play."

Seconded by Byrton, and supported by the ladies.

Adjournment to Drawing-Room. Odd. We suddenly fall into our ball-room
manners. Talking to partners quietly. Going out to get cool,--on the
stairs.

Byrton is dancing with Mrs. Orby Frimmely. Mr. Orby Frimmely being
engaged in town is not here.

Byrton is certainly very much struck, in fact he says so; and shows it.
However, he is always being struck, always saying so, always showing it,
and ... that's all.

Jenkyns Soames has retired to his room; probably to write to Rothschild.

Chilvern is Miss Cherton's partner.

Milburd is Miss Bella's.

_I don't dance._ I debate with myself whether I _can_ or not. I used to.
In a waltz for instance, I know two steps out of three. The third is
where I fail. Dances change so. My waltz is the _Deux temps_, for the
simple reason that the _Deux temps_ does also for the galop, that is, it
does for my galop.

I flatter myself on my galop. Here, so to speak, I am at home. If
Medford can only play a galop, and if Miss Bella will give up Milburd,
or Milburd give her up, why _je suis son homme_. I am her man.

Medford will do a galop, he says; and immediately before I have time to
ask if Bella--if Miss Bella ... he strikes into it and the dancers
change their step, and are whirling round and round, then up and down. I
can't stop them. As the opera books say, "Rage! Madness! Despair!"

I catch _her_ eye.

She understands, I am sure.

She will ...

If she does ...

She stops, making some excuse to Milburd and looking at me. (Aha!
Milburd! you think yourself such a lady killer, that a .. this to
myself, _thinkingly_).

_Happy Thought._--To go up to her and say, "You promised me."

I do it.

"Did I?" she says.

Milburd gives in, unexpectedly, and relinquishes her.

Aha! we are off! Round and round ... carpet rather bad to dance on ...
up and down ... I feel that we are just skirting chairs, and that
another inch will bring down the fire-irons----we put on the pace ... I
haven't danced for ... well, for some considerable time ... we nearly
come bang against the piano ... my fault .. beg pardon ... but we won't
stop ...

"Oh no!" says Bella ... and we don't stop.

A little quieter, just to, as it were, regain