“I can give you number twelve,” I said looking at my card.
“I say, and what about me?” clamoured the stranger’s companion, who had now joined us, clicking his heels together and bowing before me with exaggerated respect.
Somehow I did not feel favourably disposed towards this would-be partner; he had not, like his friend, an arresting personality. I disliked his prominent nose and teeth and bold goggling eyes, and fixed him with my best imitation of Aunt Mina’s glare.
“But why should I be left out?” he argued, totally unabashed; “you have given him one, and you dance like an angel.”
“This lady and I have met before,” coolly interposed the stranger. Then to me, “I shall look forward to number twelve”; and taking the other forcibly by the arm, he removed him from my vicinity. Subsequently, as I swam round the room in the charge of the telegraph clerk, I noticed the two watching us closely from the doorway, and as soon as the waltz was over I was promptly claimed.
My new partner danced admirably, our step suited, the floor was in first-rate condition, and the old “Amoureuse” was one of my favourites.
“Why do you try to steer?” inquired my partner, when we halted.
“I am sorry,” I replied, “but I suppose it is because, being one of the tall girls, I always danced gentleman at school.”
“And since?”
“This is my first dance—elsewhere.”