At our first pausing to recover breath, I become sensible of a face behind me, of a fierce voice in my ear.
"I had an idea, Lady Tempest, that this was _our_ dance!" "So it was!" reply I, cheerfully; "but you see I have cut you!" "So I perceive!" "Had not you better call Bobby out!" cry I, with a jeering laugh, tired of his eternal black looks.

"You really are _too_ silly! I wish I had a looking-glass here to show you your face!" "Do you ?" (very shortly).
Repartee is never Frank's forte.

This is all that he now finds with which to wither me.

However, even if he had any thing more or more pungent to say, I should not hear him, for I am beginning to dance off again.
"What a fool he is to care!" says Bobby, contemptuously; "after all, he is an ill-tempered beast! I suppose if one kicked him down-stairs it would put a stop to his marrying Barbara, would not it ?" I laugh.
"I suppose so." It is over now.

The last long-drawn-out notes have ceased to occupy the air.