At last the orchestra struck up through the poet's reedy chanting, couples made their way to the stage, and the dancing began. Morrison still sat prim and preoccupied. Mendel put his arm round Jessie's waist, his fingers sank into her young, supple body, and he lifted her to her feet and rushed with her over to the stage. The whole place was humming with life, beating to the chopped rhythm of the vacant American tune. "I do love dancing with you," said Jessie, as he swung her into the moving throng of brilliantly dressed women and black-coated men, so locked together that they were like one creature, a strange, grotesque quadruped. And Jessie so melted into him, so became a part of him, that he too became another creature, an organism in the whirling circle supported and spun round by the music. It was glorious to feel his will relaxing, to feel the lithe, soft woman in his arms yield to every impulse, every movement. He danced with a terrific concentration, with a wiry collected force that made Jessie feel as light as a feather. "Oo! That was lovely," she said when the music stopped. "You do dance lovely." "It was pretty good," said Mendel. "But wait until they play a waltz." "I want to dance with you," cried Oliver. "You said I should dance with you." And she had the next dance with him; but there was no lightness in her, only a greedy fumbling after sensation. "This is awful!" thought Mendel, never for a moment losing himself, and all the while conscious of Morrison sitting there unmoved: of Morrison, whom he was trying to forget. Oliver seemed to envelop him, to swallow him up. He was conscious of holding an enormous woman in his arms and her contact was distasteful. The dance seemed endless. Would the music never stop? . . . One, two, three. . . . One, two, three. . . . It was like a dancing class with the fat Jewesses at home. . . . And all the time he was conscious of Morrison's big blue eyes staring at him. Would she never stop her damnable smiling? He returned Oliver to Logan shamefacedly, as though he were paying a long-standing debt. Jessie returned from her other partner to him. "Oh! It isn't anything like the same," she said; "and that is such a lovely tune to dance to." Now that the dancers were warmed up they refused to allow any intervals. They had their partners and were unwilling to stop. The orchestra was worked up into a kind of frenzy, and Mendel and Jessie were whirled into an ecstasy. They abandoned the conventional steps and improvised, gliding, whirling, swooping suddenly through the dancers. Sometimes he picked her up and whirled her round, sometimes his hands were locked on her waist and she bent backwards--back, back, until he pulled her up and she fell upon his breast, happy, panting, deliriously happy. * * * * *