All had handkerchiefs concealed
in their cuffs. They moved buoyantly, each armoured in professional
gaiety, as though he had come to do great deeds. Their faces when they
danced, far from wearing the traditional solemn look of the dancing
Englishman, were irresponsible, charming, suave; they bounded, twirling
their partners at great pace, without pedantic attention to the rhythm
of the music.
At other dancers they looked with a kind of airy scorn--they, the light
brigade, the heroes of a hundred Kensington 'hops'--from whom alone
could the right manner and smile and step be hoped.
After this the stream came fast; chaperones silting up along the wall
facing the entrance, the volatile element swelling the eddy in the
larger room.
Men were scarce, and wallflowers wore their peculiar, pathetic
expression, a patient, sourish smile which seemed to say: "Oh, no! don't
mistake me, I know you are not coming up to me. I can hardly expect
that!" And Francie would plead with one of her lovers, or with some
callow youth: "Now, to please me, do let me introduce you to Miss Pink;
such a nice girl, really!" and she would bring him up, and say: "Miss
Pink--Mr. Gathercole. Can you spare him a dance?" Then Miss Pink,
smiling her forced smile, colouring a little, answered: "Oh! I think
so!" and screening her empty card, wrote on it the name of Gathercole,
spelling it passionately in the district that he proposed, about the
second extra.
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