“Something queer—just before the first waltz. There was a dark-haired girl with a diamond head-dress—the same you danced a good deal with—Miss Girdwood I believe her name is—and a fellow with moustache and imperial. The old lady, too, seemed to have a hand in it. My friend and I chanced to be standing close by, and saw there was some sort of a scene among you. Wasn’t it so?”
“Scene—naw—naw. Only the fellaw wanted to have a spin with the divine queetyaw, and the lady preferred dancing with yaw humble servant. That was all, gentlemen, I ashaw yaw.”
“We thought there had been a difficulty between him and you. It looked devilish like it.”
“Not with me. I believe there was a misunderstanding between him and the young lady. The twuth is, she pweaded a pwevious engagement, which she didn’t seem to have upon her cawd. For my part I had nothing to do with the fellaw—absolutely nothing—did not even speak to him.”
“You looked at him, though, and he at you. I thought you were going to have it out between you, there and then!”
“Aw—aw; he understands me bettaw—that same individual.”
“You knew him before, then?”
“Slightly, vewy slightly—a long time agaw.”
“In your own country, perhaps? He appears to be an Englishman.”
“Naw—not a bit of it. He’s a demmed Iwishman.”