She jawed him for making an exhibition of himself, scolding as though he were a ten-year-old.
"Well, I want to know!" she exclaimed, as he hobbled off, dejected and melancholy, leaning upon her arm, "thought he had to dance, indeed! What next?
A gay old grandpa, this.

He'd better be thinking of his coffin." It was almost midnight.

The dance drew towards its close in a storm of jubilation.

The perspiring musicians toiled like galley slaves; the guests singing as they danced.
The group of men reassembled in the harness room.

Even Magnus Derrick condescended to enter and drink a toast.