"And wot about my character?"  I ses, folding my arms acrost my chest and looking at him. 

     "Character?" he ses, staring.  "Why, there's no 'arm in dancing; it's a innercent enjoyment." 

     "It ain't one o' my innercent enjoyments," I ses, "and I don't want to get the credit of it. If they hadn't been sitting in a pub all the evening they'd 'ave spotted you at once." 

     "Oh!" he ses, very huffy.  "How?" 

     "Your voice," I ses.  "You try and mimic a poll-parrot, and think it's like me. And, for another thing, you walk about as though you're stuffed with sawdust." 

     "I beg your pardon," he ses; "the voice and the walk are exact. Exact." 

     "Wot?" I ses, looking 'im up and down.  "You stand there and 'ave the impudence to tell me that my voice is like that?" 

     "I do," he ses. 

     "Then I'm sorry for you," I ses.  "I thought you'd got more sense." 

     He stood looking at me and gnawing 'is finger, and by and by he ses, "Are you married?"  he ses. 

     "I am," I ses, very short. 

     "Where do you live?" he ses. 

     I told 'im. 

     "Very good," he ses; "p'r'aps I'll be able to convince you arter all. By the way, wot do you call your wife? Missis?" 

     "Yes," I ses, staring at him.  "But wot's it got to do with you?" 

     "Nothing," he ses.  "Nothing. Only I'm going to try the poll-parrot voice and the sawdust walk on her, that's all. If I can deceive 'er that'll settle it." 

     "Deceive her?"  I ses.  "Do you think I'm going to let you go round to my     'ouse and get me into trouble with the missis like that? Why, you must be crazy; that dancing must 'ave got into your 'ead." 

     "Where's the 'arm?"  he ses, very sulky. 

    

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