Tiadatha looked and wondered, Found her different from the others, Asked her if she’d dance the next one, Vowed he’d dodge the gilt-haired Cloe; Then the band struck up a rag-time, Noisy, thrilling, banging rag-time, And he steered her through the mazes Of that crowded floor at Murray’s. In and out among the couples Tightly in his arms he bore her (Very careful not to bump her), Dipping, whirling, swinging, swaying, To the rhythm of the music, To that syncopated music Of the darkie band at Murray’s. Then they supped and danced a fox-trot, Careless, fascinating fox-trot, Danced a waltz, another rag-time; Till the darkie band departed, Till the waiters all grew restive Phyllis danced with Tiadatha. Brother Bill had hied him homewards Rather peevish, very sleepy, Saying “See her home to Sloane Street,” To the joy of Tiadatha. So he put her in a taxi, Saying to the driver gently, “No, old top, not straight to Sloane Street,” Hopped in too and looked at Phyllis, Found his heart was working faster Than a Lewis gun in action. Very lovely was the morning As they drove down Piccadilly, Pink and grey like parrots’ feathers; And the watered streets were gleaming Still and silent in the sunlight, None abroad and nothing stirring Save a sparrow in the Green Park, Save a reveller returning; Save a loaded wagon bearing Brussels sprouts to Covent Garden. “Phyllis, dear,” said Tiadatha, “No one ever danced like you do, No one ever smiled like you do, No one ever made my heart beat In the way that you have made it. Fate is cruel to let me find you On this last of final leave days.” Phyllis sighed and whispered softly, “Better to have found each other Even for a little hour. All the same, I hate you going; I shall miss you, Tiadatha.” “Some day I will come back, Phyllis, We will dance again together. Will you be my partner always, Will you wait, my lovely Phyllis?” Not a word she answered, only Moved her hand in his a little, And straightway my Tiadatha Took her in his arms and kissed her. * * * * * “’Ere we are, sir,” said the driver. “Bin ’ere this last twenty minutes,” Growled the driver of the taxi, Rather anxious for his breakfast. So they parted; Tiadatha Watched the front door close behind her, Gave the driver half-a-sovereign, Strolled back slowly to St. James!