Blood Royal by Grant Allen

Now, then, young gentlemen, choose your partners! ' Mr. Plantagenet murmured with a bland and inane smile. ('Strike up the violin, Maud! ' aside.) 'Bow, and fall into places. Eight bars before beginning. No, _not_ yet, Miss Tradescant. Explain to this young lady, _if_ you please, Miss Tudor, that she must always wait eight bars -- eight bars exactly -- before she begins to _chasser_. That's right. Just so! Advance in couples -- right, left -- right, left -- right, left -- down the middle. Very nicely done, indeed: very nicely, very nicely. Now! -- yes -- that's it. Change hands, and over again!'

A year and more had passed, and Mr. Plantagenet's face bore distincter signs than ever of his ruling passion. It was coarse and red under the bland exterior. Maud watched him intently now on the morning of lesson days to see he didn't slink away unobserved into the bar of the White Horse before the appointed hour for the meeting in the Assembly Rooms. Once let him cross the threshold of the inn, except to enter the big hall where he received his pupils, and all was up with him. On such occasions Maud was compelled with grief and shame to stick a notice on the door: 'Mr. Plantagenet is indisposed to-day, and will be unable to meet his usual classes. ' Nobody else ever knew what agony those notices cost the poor shrinking girl; but on the next appointed afternoon Mr. Plantagenet would be at his place again as if nothing had happened, and would murmur plaintively, with one hand on his left breast and the other on the bow of his faithful violin: