“Oh, Jeremy, it’s all so horrid. Do dance with me. One little boy danced with me and then his mother tried to make him dance again and he wouldn’t, and I’m sure it wasn’t my fault, because I danced much better than he did. And then Herbert said he could dance and he couldn’t, and we fell down and he didn’t seem to mind at all; but _I_ minded because everyone laughed and I tore my dress. And there hasn’t been anybody to dance with for ever so long, and Helen’s been dancing all the time. . . . Oh, Jeremy, do dance with me! I do love dancing so, and you haven’t danced with me all the evening.” It was true that he had not, but oh! how he wished her at the other end of England at that moment! She looked so foolish with her hair all over the place and her dress untidy, her sash pulled round the wrong way and her stockings wrinkled. And every moment was precious. _She_ would be looking for him, wondering where he was, thinking him mean thus to break his promise when she had given him so especial a favour. At that thought he started away. “No, no, Mary. Later on we’ll have a dance, two if you like. But not now. I can’t, really.” But Mary was desperate. “Oh, Jeremy, you must! I can’t sit there any more and be looked at by everyone. Oh, please, Jeremy. I’ll give you my mother-of-pearl box, if you will.” “I don’t want your old box,” he said gruffly. He looked at her, looked away, looked back at her, said: “All right, then. Come on.” His heart was like lead. The evening was ruined for him, and not only the evening, but perhaps his whole life. And yet what was he to do? Mary would cry if he left her. She had had a miserable evening. Something in him was touched, as it always was, by her confident belief that he, and he alone in all the world, could always put things right. It was just his cursed luck! His evening was ruined; he hoped that after this they would go home. They had what seemed to him the most miserable of dances, but he could see that Mary was what Uncle Samuel called “seventh heavened.” She bounced about, stamping her heels on Jeremy’s toes, bumping into him, suddenly pushing back her wild hair from her frenzied face, giving little snorts of pleasure, humping her shoulders, tossing her head. Round and round they went, dancing what they imagined to be a polka, Jeremy with his face grimly set, agonized disappointment in his heart. When it was over they sat out on the stairs and Mary panted her thanks. “That was—lovely, Jeremy—we do dance—well together—don’t we? That was the nicest—I’ve ever had—I do hope—we’ll have another.” “I expect it’s awfully late,” said Jeremy gloomily. “We’ll be going home soon.” Soon the music began again and at the bottom of the stairs, to Jeremy’s immense relief, they met Mrs. Carstairs with the serious-faced Herbert. “That’s right, Mary, dear,” Mrs. Carstairs said. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s time we went down to supper. Herbert shall take us down. Have you had supper, Jeremy?”