“Oh, it will do very well without me; Mr. Wade himself says he dies to-night a very respectable death.”
“And will you not have the goodness to help it on a little in its last stage?”
“No,” said I, laughing; “why should we wish it to be kept lingering?”
“Lingering!” repeated he, looking round at the dancers, “no, surely it is not quite so desperate; and if you will but join in, you will give it new existence.”
I was a little thrown off my guard at this unexpected earnestness, so different to the ton of the day, and I began hardly to know what to answer, my real objection being such as I could by no means publish, though his urgency and his politeness joined would have made me give up any other.
“This is a very quiet dance,” he continued, “there is nothing fatiguing in it.”
“You are very good,” said I, “but I cannot really dance to-night.”
I was sorry to seem so obstinate, but he was just the man to make every body inquire whom he danced with; and any one who wished for general attention could do no better than to be his partner. The ever-mischievous Mrs. Thrale, calling to Mr. Selwyn, who stood by us, said,—
“Why, here's a man in love!—quite, downright in love with Miss Burney, if ever I saw one!”
“He is quite mortified, at least,” he answered; “I never saw a man look more mortified.”