"You can dance with your child, of course; but at least let me introduce you to my friend."
With a faint and carefully subdued shrug he submits to the inevitable, and goes where Clarissa leads. He finds himself presently at the other end of the room, near where a little dainty black-robed figure stands, with three men before her, all evidently possessed with an overpowering desire to inscribe their names upon the morsel of tinted and gilded paper she holds in her hand.
Her large blue eyes are almost black with excitement; her lips are parted, and, like Herrick's "Julia," are like "rubies," soft and rich. She is glancing up, in a little puzzled fashion, at the tall fair man who is bending over her whilst going through the usual formula, "May I have the pleasure," etc.
"Well, where is this dreadful woman?" says Dorian, at this moment, almost impatiently; he is watching Georgie and the fair man, and feels distinctly savage.
"Why, here," says Clarissa.
"Here? Not the—the girl in black, talking to Bellew!"
"Yes; that is your dreadful woman."
"Oh, look here, you know, it is too absurd," says Dorian, with a low laugh. "I have danced twice with her already, and am engaged to her for this!"
"She is your 'child,' then?" asks Clarissa, opening her eyes.
"Yes; but a governess, my dear Clarissa?"