"I don't like asking a perfect stranger to dance," he said.
"Go on," said Gordon, "it's all right.

She'll like it." Carew drew down his cuffs, squared his shoulders, assumed his most absolutely stolid drawing-room manner, and walked across the room, a gleaming vision of splendour in his immaculate evening dress.
"May I--er--have the pleasure of this dance ?" he said, with elaborate politeness.
The girl giggled a little, but said nothing, then rose and took his arm.
As she did so, a youth among the talkers at the other end of the room looked round, and stared for a second.

Then he moistened his fingers with his tongue, smoothed the hair on his temples, and with elbows held out from his sides, shoulders hunched up, and under-jaw stuck well out, bore down on Carew and the girl, who were getting under way when he came up.

Taking not the slightest notice of Carew, he touched the girl on the shoulder with a sharp peremptory tap, and brought their dance to a stop.
"'Ere," he said, in commanding tones.

"'Oo are you darncin' with ?" "I'm darncin' with 'im," answered the girl, pertly, indicating the Englishman with a jerk of her head.
"Ho, you're darncin' with 'im, are you?
'E brought you 'ere, p'r'aps ?" "No, he didn't," she said.
"No," said he.