of fact, he is not his own
son, but his own father.

"I suppose I must go," he thought. "I needn't dance. Haven't danced
since I was a young man. But I can't afford to offend him just now."

And so he followed the rest into a sort of cloak-room, where the tall
hats which the boys wore on Sundays were all kept on shelves in white
bandboxes; and there his hair was brushed, his feet were thrust into
very shiny patent leather shoes, and a pair of kid gloves was given out
to him to put on.

The dancing lesson was to be held in the "Dining Hall," from which the
savour of mutton had not altogether departed. When Paul came in he found
the floor cleared and the tables and forms piled up on one side of the
room.

Biddlecomb and Tipping and some of the smaller boys were there already,
their gloves and shiny shoes giving them a feeling of ceremony and
constraint which they tried to carry off by an uncouth parody of
politeness.

Siggers was telling stories of the dances he had been to in town, and
the fine girls whose step had exactly suited his own, and Tipping was
leaning gloomily against the wall listening to something Chawner was
whispering in his ear.

There was a rustle of dresses down the stairs outside, and two thin
little girls, looking excessively proper and prim, came in with an
elderly gentlewoman who was their governess and wore a _pince-nez_ to
impart the necessary suggestion of a superior intellect. They were the
Miss Mutlows, sisters of one of the day-boarders, and attended the
course by special favour as friends of Dulcie's, who followed them in
with a little gleam of shy anticipation in her eyes.

The Miss Mutlows sat stiffly down on a form, one on each side of her
governess, and all three stared solemnly at the boys, who began to blush
vividly under the inspection, to unbutton and rebutton their gloves with
great care, and to shift from leg to leg in an embarrassed manner.

Dulcie soon singled out poor Mr. Bultitude, who, mindful of Tipping's
warning, was doing his very best to avoid her.

She ran straight to him, laid her hand on his arm and looked into his
face pleadingly. "Dick," she said, "you're not sulky still, are you?"

Mr. Bultitude had borne a good deal already, and, not being remarkably
sweet-natured, he shook the little hand away, half petulant and half
alarmed. "I do wish you wouldn't do this sort of thing in public. You'll
compromise me, you know!" he said nervously.

Dulcie opened her