"I cannot—and let me alone, Anthony," escaped her again. She was frightened.
"Have done. I do not want you here to make a fool of yourself and me; and that you will do if you slink back to your place."
"But I cannot dance, Anthony."
"Folly! I will put you to-rights. With half a pinch of wit you cannot go wrong."
The music struck up, the clarionette squealed, the violins sawed, and the bass grunted. In a moment Urith was caught away—felt herself swung, flying, she knew not where. She knew not what she was doing. She could neither keep step with the music, nor discover the direction in which she had to go. She saw faces—faces on every side—full of laughter, amusement, mockery. She was thrown adrift from Anthony, was groping for his hand; could not tell where he was, what she had to do; got in the way of other dancers, was knocked across the floor, knocked back again; ran between couples—then, all at once, she was aware of Anthony pushing his way to her, with an angry face, and an exclamation of, "You are no good at all; get back to your chair. I won't dance with you again and be made a laughing-stock of."
He left her, where he had thrust her out of the dance, to find her way back to Bessie, and strode off to Julian, caught her by the hand, and in a moment was fully engaged.
He was maddened with vexation. It was unendurable to him that he had been the occasion of laughter. Every other girl and woman in the room, however plain, could dance—only his wife not. She alone must sit against the wall! That it was his fault in forcing her to come against her wishes—his fault in making her attempt to do what she had protested her ignorance of—he did not recognise. The wife of Anthony Cleverdon ought to take a prominent place—ought to be able to dance, and dance well—ought to be handsomer, better dressed, more able to make herself agreeable, than any other woman! And there she was—helpless! Handsome, indeed; but with her beauty disguised by an unbecoming dress; silent, sulky, on the verge of tears. It was enough to make his heart fill with gall!
On the other hand, here was Julian Crymes in charming costume, bright of eye, fresh of colour, full of wit and banter, moving easily in the dance, light, confident, graceful. Julian was glowing with pleasure; her dark eyes flashed with the fire that burned in her soul, and the hot blood rolled boiling through her veins.