There was gnawing trouble at her heart. She had
watched his meeting with Henrietta. It had been wordless; everything
was understood. She had also seen the unhappiness of Charles Batty,
and, on an inspiration, she said to him, 'Charles, you must take pity
on an old maid. I have all these dances to give away.'
For him this dance was to be remembered as the beginning of his
friendship with Rose Mallett; but at the moment he was merely annoyed
at being prevented from watching Henrietta's dark head appearing and
disappearing among the other dancers like that of a bather in a rough
sea. He said, 'Oh, thank you very much. Are you sure there's nobody
else? But I suppose there can't be'; and holding her at arm's length,
he ambled round her, treading occasionally on her toes. He apologized:
he was no good at dancing: he hoped he had not hurt her slippers, or
her feet.
She paused and looked down at them. 'You mustn't do that to Henrietta.
Her slippers are yellow and you would spoil them.'
'She isn't giving me a single dance!' he burst out. 'I asked her to,
but I never thought I ought to get a promise. Nobody told me. Nobody
tells me anything.'
An icily angry gentleman remonstrated with him for standing in the
fairway and Rose suggested that they should sit down.
'You see, I'm no good. I can't dance. I can't please her.'
'Charles, you're still in the way. Let us go somewhere quiet and then
you can tell me all about it.
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