He could not tell the other what he felt; he could not have spoken, just then, to any mortal.

Besides, Pendennis did not quite know what he felt yet; it was something overwhelming, maddening, delicious; a fever of wild joy and undefined longing.
And now Rowkins and Miss Thackthwaite came on to dance the favourite double hornpipe, and Foker abandoned himself to the delights of this ballet, just as he had to the tears of the tragedy, a few minutes before.

Pen did not care for it, or indeed think about the dance, except to remember that that woman was acting with her in the scene where she first came in.

It was a mist before his eyes.

At the end of the dance he looked at his watch and said it was time for him to go.
"Hang it, stay to see The Bravo of the Battle-Axe," Foker said, "Bingley's splendid in it; he wears red tights, and has to carry Mrs.B.
over the Pine-bridge of the Cataract, only she's too heavy.