'I beg your pardon--,' I began.

He turned towards me. You will not be surprised--I was looking into
Pair's own face.

* * * * *

You will not be surprised, but you will imagine what it was for me.
Oh, yes, I recognised him instantly; there could be no mistake. And he
recognised me, for he flushed, and winced, and started back.

I suppose for a little while we were both of us speechless, speechless
and motionless, while our hearts stopped beating. By-and-by I think I
said--something had to be said to break the situation--I think I said,
'It's you, Edmund?' I remember he fumbled with a sheet of music, and
kept his eyes bent on it, and muttered something inarticulate. Then
there was another speechless, helpless suspension. He continued to
fumble his music without looking up. At last I remember saying,
through a sort of sickness and giddiness, 'Let us get out of
here--where we can talk.'

'I can't leave yet. I've got another dance,' he answered.

'Well, I'll wait,' said I.

I sat down near him and waited, trying to create some kind of order
out of the chaos in my mind, and half automatically watching and
considering him as he played his dance--Edmund Pair playing a dance
for prostitutes and drunken sailors. He was not greatly changed. There