An Outback Marriage

The bushman stared down the room with far-seeing eyes, apparently

looking at nothing, and contemplated the whole show with bored

indifference.

"Nothing very dazzling about this," he said. "I'm afraid we can't

show you anything very exciting here. Better go back to the club,

eh?"

Just then the band (piano and violin) struck up a slow, laboured

waltz, "Bid me Good-bye and go," and each black-coated male, with

languid self-possession, strolled across the room, seized a lady

by the arm, jerked her to her feet without saying a syllable, and

commenced to dance in slow, convulsive movements, making a great

many revolutions for very little progress. Two or three girls were

left sitting, as their partners were talking in a little knot at

the far end of the room; one among them was conspicuously pretty,

and she began to ogle Carew in a very pronounced way.

"There's one hasn't got a partner," said Gordon. "Good-looking

Tottie, too. Go and ask her to dance. See what she says."

The Englishman hesitated for a second. "I don't like asking a

perfect stranger to dance," he said.

"Go on," said Gordon, "it's all right. She'll like it."

Carew drew down his cuffs, squared his shoulders, assumed his most

absolutely stolid drawing-room manner, and walked across the room,

a gleaming vision of splendour in his immaculate evening dress.

"May I--er--have the pleasure of this dance?" he said, with elaborate

politeness.

The girl giggled a little, but said nothing, then rose and took

his arm.

As she did so, a youth among the talkers at the other end of the

room looked round, and stared for a second. Then he moistened his

fingers with his tongue, smoothed the hair on his temples, and with

elbows held out from his sides, shoulders hunched up, and under-jaw

stuck well out, bore down on Carew and the girl, who were getting

under way when he came up. Taking not the slightest notice of Carew,

he touched the girl on the shoulder with a sharp peremptory tap,

and brought their dance to a stop.

"'Ere," he said, in commanding tones. "'Oo are you darncin' with?"

"I'm darncin' with 'im," answered the girl, pertly, indicating the

Englishman with a jerk of her head.

"Ho, you're darncin' with 'im, are you? 'E brought you 'ere,

p'r'aps?"

"No, he didn't," she said.

"No," said he. "You know well enough 'e didn't."

While this conversation was going on, the English-man maintained

an attitude of dignified reserve, leaving it to the lady to decide

who was to be the favoured man. At last he felt it was hardly right

for an Oxford man, and a triple blue at that, to be discussed in

this contemptuous way by a larrikin and his "donah," so he broke

into the discussion, perhaps a little abruptly, but using his most

polished style.