rl sat on the table at her father's side, watching them
seriously. She flung her arms behind her head and then suddenly--

"I can dance too," she said.

They pulled the table back and watched her.

It was something quite simple and unaffected--not, perhaps, in any way
great dancing, but having that quality, so rarely met with, of being
exactly right and suited to time and place. Her arms moved in ripples
like the waves of the sea--every part of her body seemed to join in the
same motion, but quietly, with perfect tranquillity, without any sense
of strain or effort. The golden lamps, the coloured clothes, the
red-brick floor, made a background of dazzling colour, and her black
hair escaped and fell in coils over her neck and shoulders.

Suddenly she stopped. "There, that's all," she said, binding her hair
up again with quick fingers. She walked over to the sailors and talked
to them with perfect freedom and ease; at last she stayed by the
handsomest of them--a dark, well-built young fellow, who put his arm
round her waist and shared his drink with her.

Harry, as he watched them, felt strangely that it was for him a scene
of farewell--that it was for the last time that the place was to offer
him such equality or that he himself would be in a position to accept
it. He did not know why he had this feeling--perhaps it was the talk
of the Club about the Cove, or his own certain conviction that matters
at the House were rapidly approaching a crisis. Yes, his own protests
were of no avail--things must move, and perhaps, after all, it were
better that they should.

Bethel came in, and as usual joined the group at the fire without a
word; he looked at the pedlar curiously and then seemed to recognise
him--then he went up to him and soon they were in earnest conversation.
It grew late, and at the stroke of midnight Newsome rose to shut up the
house.

"I will go back with you," Bethel said to Harry, and they walked to the
door together. For a moment Harry turned back. The girl was bending
over the sailor--her arms were round his neck, and his head was tilted
back to meet her mouth; the pedlar was putting his wares into his pack
again, but some pieces of yellow and blue silk had escaped him and lay
on the floor at his feet; down the street three of the sailors were
tramping home, and the chorus of a chanty died away as they turned the
corner.

The girl, the pedlar, the colours of the room, the vanishing song,
rem