“I believe,” observed Pigeon-breast, with his nose fairly to the floor, so deeply would he bow, “I believe I will have the honor of another dance”—here another bow as lowly louted as the first.
As Pigeon-breast resumed the perpendicular, he crooked his gallant arm invitingly and would lead Peg to her place.
But Peg drew back, as much to my bewilderment as that of the wonder-smitten Pigeon-breast himself, and with a manner coldly polite said:
“There is a mistake, sir; I could have promised you no dance, since I do not know you.”
“Mistake!” gasped Pigeon-breast.
“Mistake,” repeated Peg, with, if anything, an access of ice. “I never before saw you; I could have put you down for no dance. One does not dance with strangers.” Then to me: “Your arm, if you please.”
As I carried Peg away, Pigeon-breast was heard to inarticulately moan and whine like a high wind in a keyhole. Later I beheld him desperately, in the refreshment room, drinking strong waters with both hands and as though he had a fish in his stomach.
“And now,” said I to Peg, as we moved away from the crushed Pigeon-breast, “why were you so bitter? That empty fellow was not worth so much. Besides, you have shamed him before the town; you hurt him to the heart.”
“Hurt him to the vanity,” corrected Peg. “If it be true that nothing dries more quickly than a woman's tear—and it is true, watch-dog—nothing cures more quickly than the hurt vanity of a man. That dandy will anon be as gay as a peacock. However, I would punish him. I have made him an Ishmael of the drawing-rooms; I have driven him forth from us, and he cannot return to the others for his apostasy of their cause is known. Did I not tell you, watch-dog, I was a revengeful woman?”
Altogether, I might have wished our Peg had taken another course with Pigeon-breast.