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He's only got ten minutes; he hasn't really got that; but he's going to see me do my Salome dance." Lady Queenie made no attempt to introduce Miss I-forget-your-name, who of her own accord took a chair with a curious, dashed effrontery. It appeared that she was attached to Mr. Dialin.
Dialin, of Miss I-forget-your-name, of Lieutenant Molder. How unconsciously sure of themselves and arrogant in their years! How strong! How unapprehensive! Pooh! He had acquired the supreme and subtly enjoyable faculty, which they had yet painfully to acquire, of nice, sure, discriminating, all-weighing judgment ... Concepcion had divested herself of youth.
"You see, it will be barefoot," she explained to Mr. Dialin. The performers were all ladies of the upper world, ladies bearing names for the most part as familiar as the names of streets and not a stage-star among them. Amateurism was to be absolutely untainted by professionalism in the prodigious affair; therefore the prices of tickets ruled high, and queens had conferred their patronage.
He wondered that, at any rate, Concepcion should not perceive the poor, pretentious quality of the girlish exhibition. And as he looked at the mincing Dialin he pictured the lance-corporal helping to serve a gun.
"Why, you're in the dark here!" she exclaimed impatiently, and impatiently switched on several lights. "Sorry I'm late, G.J.," she said perfunctorily, without taking any trouble to put conviction into her voice. "How have you two been getting on?" She looked at Concepcion and G.J. in a peculiar way, inquisitorial and implicatory. Then, towards the door: "Come in, come in, Dialin."
Dialin assisted the breathless Queen to rise, and they went off into a corner and he talked to her in low tones. Soon he looked at his wrist-watch and caught the summoning eye of Miss I-forget-your-name. "But it's pretty all right, isn't it?" said Queen. "Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" he soothed her with an expert's casualness. "Naturally, you want to work it up. You fell beautifully.
Now you go and see Crevelli he's the man." "I shall get him to come here. What's his address?" "I don't know. He's just moved. But you'll see it in the April number of The Dancing Times." As the footman was about to escort Mr. Dialin and his urgent lady downstairs Queen ordered: "Bring me up a whisky-and-soda."
A young soldier with the stripe of a lance-corporal entered, slightly nervous and slightly defiant. "And you, Miss I-forget-your-name." A young woman entered; she had very red lips and very high heels, and was both more nervous and more defiant than the young soldier. "This is Mr. Dialin, you know, Con, second ballet-master at the Ottoman. I met him by sheer marvellous chance.
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