Adjournment to Drawing-Room. Odd. We suddenly fall into our ball-room manners. Talking to partners quietly. Going out to get cool,--on the stairs.

Byrton is dancing with Mrs. Orby Frimmely. Mr. Orby Frimmely being engaged in town is not here.

Byrton is certainly very much struck, in fact he says so; and shows it.

However, he is always being struck, always saying so, always showing it, and ... that's all.

Jenkyns Soames has retired to his room; probably to write to Rothschild.

Chilvern is Miss Cherton's partner.

Milburd is Miss Bella's.

_I don't dance._ I debate with myself whether I _can_ or not. I used to.

In a waltz for instance, I know two steps out of three. The third is where I fail. Dances change so. My waltz is the _Deux temps_, for the simple reason that the _Deux temps_ does also for the galop, that is, it does for my galop.

I flatter myself on my galop. Here, so to speak, I am at home. If Medford can only play a galop, and if Miss Bella will give up Milburd, or Milburd give her up, why _je suis son homme_. I am her man.

Medford will do a galop, he says; and immediately before I have time to ask if Bella--if Miss Bella ... he strikes into it and the dancers change their step, and are whirling round and round, then up and down. I can't stop them. As the opera books say, "Rage! Madness! Despair!"

I catch _her_ eye.

She understands, I am sure.

She will ...

If she does ...

She stops, making some excuse to Milburd and looking at me. (Aha!

Milburd! you think yourself such a lady killer, that a .. this to myself, _thinkingly_).

_Happy Thought._--To go up to her and say, "You promised me."

I do it.

"Did I?" she says.

Milburd gives in, unexpectedly, and relinquishes her.

Aha! we are off! Round and round ... carpet rather bad to dance on ...

up and down ... I feel that we are just skirting chairs, and that another inch will bring down the fire-irons----we put on the pace ... I haven't danced for ... well, for some considerable time ... we nearly come bang against the piano ... my fault .. beg pardon ... but we won't stop ...

"Oh no!" says Bella ... and we don't stop.

A little quieter, just to, as it were, regain consciousness, for everything is becoming blurred--(jerky sentences while dancing) ...

"It's more difficult ... to steer when ... there are a few ... than when ..." "Yes," says Miss Bella, who quite understands. (_Myself tenderly._) "Do you ... like dancing?" ... "Yes," ... (_whirl round, up and down_ ... then) ... "This dance?" ... What? ... (_whirl round just to get the steam up again for the question, and put it sotto voce, finding myself close to her ear--such a pretty little ear--made to be whispered into_). "Do you like this dance?" ... "Very much." (_My heart is fluttering nervously, like a stray bird under a skylight_) ... "With anyone?" ... (_No answer ... My question means do you prefer ME to dance with, and not only to dance with, but ..._)

The music ceases. Medford is tired. We all thank him.

Gong. Luncheon.

If it hadn't been for the gong ...

But at all events the wet morning is over.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HOW DO YOU LIKE MY FIZZ"]

CHAPTER XI.

A NIGHT SURPRISE.

Boodels and Milburd knock at my door at 2.30 a.m., after I've been asleep two hours, and wake me up to tell me that they had thought of a Pleasure of Poverty: it was, Milburd said,

_To think that you can't be worse off, while you hope that others may._

I say .. "_Oh_ ... don't bother--I mean--yes--capital ... go to ...

bed," and turning round, try to sleep again.

The Deputation thanks me and withdraws.

"What an idiotic thing to do," I say to myself .... "What a foolish thing" .... getting more wakeful ... "What a cruel thing .... Hang it!

it's positively selfish ... it's" ... turning for the fifth time, and my pillow becoming as hot as a blister ... "Confound Boodels ... and Milburd ... it's all _his_ doing, I know" ... sitting up in bed.

It occurs to me that counting one hundred and forty backwards, and then getting out and drinking a gla.s.s of water, is a capital way of inducing sleep ...

Odd, but in Milburd and Boodels coming to rouse me at this time, I find _a_ solution to the other question that we had occupied part of our morning in discussing.

What circ.u.mstance justifies loss of patience?

Why, loss of sleep.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SOFT REPOSE.]

CHAPTER XII.

OUR LIBRARY--BUSTS--DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS--MELANCHOLY--GUESSES-- SOAMES--MRS. BOODELS AGAIN--MILBURD--HIS JOKE--A NUISANCE.

Of all the melancholy objects of Art Busts are the most so.

Do you want a sensation of Miserable Melancholy?