Part 15 (1/2)

”Oh dear, no,” said Horace; ”I engaged _her_ at--at Harrod's--the Entertainment Bureau. They told me there she was rather good--struck out a line of her own, don't you know. But perfectly correct; she--she only does this to support an invalid aunt.”

These statements were, as he felt even in making them, not only gratuitous, but utterly unconvincing, but he had arrived at that condition in which a man discovers with terror the unsuspected amount of mendacity latent in his system.

”I should have thought there were other ways of supporting invalid aunts,” remarked Mrs. Futvoye. ”What is this young lady's name?”

”Tinkler,” said Horace, on the spur of the moment. ”Miss Clementine Tinkler.”

”But surely she is a foreigner?”

”Mademoiselle, I ought to have said. And Tinkla--with an 'a,' you know.

I believe her mother was of Arabian extraction--but I really don't know,” explained Horace, conscious that Sylvia had withdrawn her hand from his, and was regarding him with covert anxiety.

”I really _must_ put a stop to this,” he thought.

”You're getting bored by all this, darling,” he said aloud; ”so am I.

I'll tell them to go.” And he rose and held out his hand as a sign that the dance should cease.

It ceased at once; but, to his unspeakable horror, the dancer crossed the floor with a swift jingling rush, and sank in a gauzy heap at his feet, seizing his hand in both hers and covering it with kisses, while she murmured speeches in some tongue unknown to him.

”Is this a usual feature in Miss Tinkla's entertainments, may I ask?”

said Mrs. Futvoye, bristling with not unnatural indignation.

”I really don't know,” said the unhappy Horace; ”I can't make out what she's saying.”

”If I understand her rightly,” said the Professor, ”she is addressing you as the 'light of her eyes and the vital spirit of her heart.'”

”Oh!” said Horace, ”she's quite mistaken, you know. It--it's the emotional artist temperament--they don't _mean_ anything by it. My--my dear young lady,” he added, ”you've danced most delightfully, and I'm sure we're all most deeply indebted to you; but we won't detain you any longer. Professor,” he added, as she made no offer to rise, ”_will_ you kindly explain to them in Arabic that I should be obliged by their going at once?”

The Professor said a few words, which had the desired effect. The girl gave a little scream and scudded through the archway, and the musicians seized their instruments and scuttled after her.

”I am so sorry,” said Horace, whose evening seemed to him to have been chiefly spent in apologies; ”it's not at all the kind of entertainment one would expect from a place like Whiteley's.”

”By no means,” agreed the Professor; ”but I understood you to say Miss Tinkla was recommended to you by Harrod's?”

”Very likely, sir,” said Horace; ”but that doesn't affect the case. I shouldn't expect it from _them_.”

”Probably they don't know how shamelessly that young person conducts herself,” said Mrs. Futvoye. ”And I think it only right that they should be told.”

”I shall complain, of course,” said Horace. ”I shall put it very strongly.”

”A protest would have more weight coming from a woman,” said Mrs.

Futvoye; ”and, as a shareholder in the company, I shall feel bound----”

”No, I wouldn't,” said Horace; ”in fact, you mustn't. For, now I come to think of it, she didn't come from Harrod's, after all, or Whiteley's either.”

”Then perhaps you will be good enough to inform us where she _did_ come from?”

”I would if I knew,” said Horace; ”but I don't.”