'I am too big a fool about you to keep you down as I ought; that's the fault of me, worse luck.' He pressed the youth's hand with a smile, went forward, and looked through the hole into the interior of the gymnasium.

Dare withdrew to some little distance, and watched Captain De Stancy's face, which presently began to assume an expression of interest.
What was the captain seeing?
A sort of optical poem.
Paula, in a pink flannel costume, was bending, wheeling and undulating in the air like a gold-fish in its globe, sometimes ascending by her arms nearly to the lantern, then lowering herself till she swung level with the floor.

Her aunt Mrs.Goodman, and Charlotte De Stancy, were sitting on camp-stools at one end, watching her gyrations, Paula occasionally addressing them with such an expression as--'Now, Aunt, look at me--and you, Charlotte--is not that shocking to your weak nerves,' when some adroit feat would be repeated, which, however, seemed to give much more pleasure to Paula herself in performing it than to Mrs.Goodman in looking on, the latter sometimes saying, 'O, it is terrific--do not run such a risk again!' It would have demanded the poetic passion of some joyous Elizabethan lyrist like Lodge, Nash, or Constable, to fitly phrase Paula's presentation of herself at this moment of absolute abandonment to every muscular whim that could take possession of such a supple form.

The white manilla ropes clung about the performer like snakes as she took her exercise, and the colour in her face deepened as she went on.
Captain De Stancy felt that, much as he had seen in early life of beauty in woman, he had never seen beauty of such a real and living sort as this.

A recollection of his vow, together with a sense that to gaze on the festival of this Bona Dea was, though so innocent and pretty a sight, hardly fair or gentlemanly, would have compelled him to withdraw his eyes, had not the sportive fascination of her appearance glued them there in spite of all.