(Aloud.) No, on my word, I don't. You dance beautifully.
Miss T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I thought
officers in the Army didn't tell fibs.
Capt. G. It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a dance
with you.
Miss T. (Wickedly.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more?
Capt. G. (More earnestly than the necessity demands.) I wasn't thinking of your
Mother. (Aside.) You little vixen!
Miss T. (Still looking out of the window.) Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was
thinking of something else.
Capt. G. (Aside.) Well! I wonder what she'll say next. I've never known a woman
treat me like this before. I might b--Dash it, I might be an Infantry
subaltern! (Aloud.) Oh, please don't trouble. I'm not worth thinking about.
Isn't your Mother ready yet?
Miss T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gamsby, you won't take poor
dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so.
Capt. G. She says that no exercise tires her.
Miss T. Yes, but she suffers afterward. You don't know what rheumatism is, and
you oughtn't to keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenings.
Capt. G. (Aside.) Rheumatism. I thought she came off her horse rather in a
bunch.
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