“We must follow suit,” said Hirst to Rachel, and he took her resolutely by the elbow.  Rachel, without being expert, danced well, because of a good ear for rhythm, but Hirst had no taste for music, and a few dancing lessons at Cambridge had only put him into possession of the anatomy of a waltz, without imparting any of its spirit.  A single turn proved to them that their methods were incompatible; instead of fitting into each other their bones seemed to jut out in angles making smooth turning an impossibility, and cutting, moreover, into the circular progress of the other dancers.

“Shall we stop?” said Hirst.  Rachel gathered from his expression that he was annoyed.

They staggered to seats in the corner, from which they had a view of the room.  It was still surging, in waves of blue and yellow, striped by the black evening-clothes of the gentlemen.

“An amazing spectacle,” Hirst remarked.  “Do you dance much in London?” They were both breathing fast, and both a little excited, though each was determined not to show any excitement at all.

“Scarcely ever.  Do you?”

“My people give a dance every Christmas.”

“This isn’t half a bad floor,” Rachel said.  Hirst did not attempt to answer her platitude.  He sat quite silent, staring at the dancers.  After three minutes the silence became so intolerable to Rachel that she was goaded to advance another commonplace about the beauty of the night.  Hirst interrupted her ruthlessly.

“Was that all nonsense what you said the other day about being a Christian and having no education?” he asked.

“It was practically true,” she replied.  “But I also play the piano very well,” she said, “better, I expect than any one in this room.  You are the most distinguished man in England, aren’t you?” she asked shyly.

“One of the three,” he corrected.

Helen whirling past here tossed a fan into Rachel’s lap.

“She is very beautiful,” Hirst remarked.

They were again silent.  Rachel was wondering whether he thought her also nice-looking; St. John was considering the immense difficulty of talking to girls who had no experience of life.  Rachel had obviously never thought or felt or seen anything, and she might be intelligent or she might be just like all the rest.  But Hewet’s taunt rankled in his mind—­“you don’t know how to get on with women,” and he was determined to profit by this opportunity.  Her evening-clothes bestowed on her just that degree of unreality and distinction which made it romantic to speak to her, and stirred a desire to talk, which irritated him because he did not know how to begin.  He glanced at her, and she seemed to him very remote and inexplicable, very young and chaste.  He drew a sigh, and began.

“About books now.  What have you read?  Just Shakespeare and the Bible?”

“I haven’t read many classics,” Rachel stated.  She was slightly annoyed by his jaunty and rather unnatural manner, while his masculine acquirements induced her to take a very modest view of her own power.