There was a dance in the evening. With which
general mention of that recreation, I should have left
it alone, if I had not some reason to suppose that it
was quite an original dance, and one of a most uncom-
mon figure. It was formed in an odd way; in this
way.
Edward, that sailor-fellow -- a good free dashing
sort of a fellow he was -- had been telling them various
marvels concerning parrots, and mines, and Mexicans,
and gold dust, when all at once he took it in his head
to jump up from his seat and propose a dance; for
Bertha's harp was there, and she had such a hand
upon it as you seldom hear. Dot (sly little piece of
affectation when she chose) said her dancing days
were over; I think because the Carrier was smoking
his pipe, and she liked sitting by him, best. Mrs.
Fielding had no choice, of course, but to say her danc-
ing days were over, after that; and everybody said
the same, except May; May was ready.
So, May and Edward get up, amid great applause,
to dance alone; and Bertha plays her liveliest tune.
Well! if you'll believe me, they have not been danc-
ing five minutes, when suddenly the Carrier flings his
pipe away, takes Dot round the waist, dashes out into
the room, and starts off with her, toe and heel, quite
wonderfully.
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