“And you, Mr Cheadle?”

“What a question to ask a cornet-player!” replied Mr Cheadle, as he undid his overcoat to reveal a much worn evening suit, together with a frayed, soiled shirt.

“Excellent! excellent!” cried Mr Poulter on seeing the cornet-player’s garb.

“One ’ud think I played outside pubs,” grumbled Mr Cheadle.

“Now, if only Mr Baffy would come, you artistes could get to work,” remarked Mr Poulter pleasantly.

“Let’s start without him,” suggested Cheadle, who seemed pleased at being referred to as an artiste.

A move was made to the platform at the further end of the hall; when this was reached, a little old man staggered into the hall, bearing on his shoulders a bass viol.

“Here’s Baffy!” cried the three musicians together.

When the man disentangled himself from his burden, Mavis saw that the bass viol player was short, unkempt, greyhaired and bearded; he stared straight before him with vacant, watery eyes; his mouth was always agape; he neither greeted nor spoke to anyone present.

In obedience to Mr Poulter’s instructions, two of the band brought a big screen from a side-room; this was set up by the piano, at which instrument Mavis took her seat.  The screen was arranged so that she and Cheadle, the cornet-player, would be in full sight of the dancers; the three musicians not in evening dress were hidden behind the screen.  They commenced a waltz.  Mr Baffy did not start with the others; he was set going by a kick from Mr Cheadle.  He played without music, seemingly at random, vilely, unconcernedly.  Mr Baffy seemed to be ignorant of when a figure was ended, as he went on scraping after the others had ceased, and only stopped after receiving a further kick from Cheadle; he then stared feebly before him, till again set going by a forcible hint from the cornet-player.

Mavis acquitted herself to the grudging satisfaction of Cheadle.  A few minutes before the doors were open, Miss Nippett approached her, wearing, besides her usual shawl, a coquettish cap and apron.

“Have you come to the dance?” asked Mavis.

“I’m ‘ladies cloak-room’ to-night?  What do you think of Baffy?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“No class, is ’e?”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“I don’t ’old with the feller.  ’Is presence is a disgrace to the academy,” replied the “ladies’ cloak-room.”

A few minutes later, the first of Mr Poulter’s patrons self-consciously entered the room; soon after, dancing commenced.

As if to give Mavis heart for her unaccustomed task, Mr Poulter kept an eye upon her; he encouraged her with smiles whenever she looked in his direction.  Mavis’s playing was much jeopardised by the conduct of the other musicians; they did not give the least attention to what they were at, but performed as if their efforts were second nature.  Soon after the dancing started, Mr Cheadle brought from