The Rossinians were giving a party in honor of Winnie's fifteenth birthday, and for several days before the event, Nejib and his sister endeavored to initiate Archag into the mysteries of the dance, but their pupil did not make very good progress; he made fun of himself, saying that he skipped with about as much grace as a young bear. He got on well enough with the polka, the glide, or the lancers, but as soon as the lad began to waltz, his head swam, his feet got all mixed up, and he was obliged to stop. "It's quite useless for you to try any more," said Miss Pritchard amiably. "I would much rather teach a camel to dance." So Archag took her at her word and gave up trying to waltz. All the young people of Aleppo were invited to the Rossinian's party. There were the daughters of the English consul, there were pretty young girls of the Levant, loaded with jewels and gewgaws, and there were dapper secretaries from the different consulates, whose only serious purpose in life seemed to be dancing with young girls. Archag felt embarrassed in the midst of all this fine society; he noticed that his brown suit and blue tie attracted attention; the young men turned to look at him, and the girls whispered to one another and shrugged their shoulders. Nejib had offered to lend him a dinner-jacket, but he was too proud to accept it, and now he was sorry. Miss Pritchard, swathed in mauve silk, with a bunch of violets poised at the top of her capillary edifice, looked him over disdainfully. Winnie, to be sure, had said a few pleasant words to him, but she was too much occupied with receiving her guests to give him much time. For a while he sat by himself in a corner, looking over a book, for the sake of appearances; then Nejib came looking for him, to announce supper. "Ghel tchabouk (hurry up), I want to present you to Mademoiselle Maréchal, for you have to take her in to supper." Archag followed him, greeted the young lady with an awkward bow, and offered her his arm. At the table he felt very much out of his element. His companion, the daughter of a rich French merchant, took no notice of him; she would reply dryly to the few remarks which the boy addressed to her, and would then turn to join in the merriment of those near her at the table.