“It is my dance,” repeated Teddy, glaring fixedly at me.
I shrugged my shoulders, smiled, and offered her my arm to lead her away.
“I am sorry, Mr. Lumme,” said the cause of this strife, sweetly, “but I am afraid Mr. D'Haricot's name is on my programme.”
Teddy made a tragic bow that would have done credit to a dyspeptic frog, and I danced off with my prize. At the end of the waltz he came up to me with a carefully concocted sneer.
“You know how to sneak dances, moshyour,” he observed. “Do you do everything else as well?”
I kept my temper and replied, suavely, “Yes, I shoot tolerably with the pistol, and can use the foils.”
“Like your cab-horses?” sneered Teddy, taking no notice, however, of the implied invitation to console himself if aggrieved. “I'm keen to see how long you stick on top of those beasts.”
“Good, my friend,” I replied, “I take that as a challenge to ride a race. We shall see to-morrow who first catches the fox!”
