The respite was brief; they heard the orchestra swing into a one-step, and Denis said that they ought to go back to the ball-room. He left her in the doorway, stranded, and went to claim his partner for the dance.

Elizabeth tried to make out the name on her programme, unsuccessfully, and wondered how ever she would recognise its owner. A fair man with a monocle came up to her and bowed.

“I think this is our dance, Miss—Er ...?”

“Oh, is it?” Elizabeth said, wishing that it was not. The fair man looked supercilious and rather bored; she was sure that he danced in a complicated style.

She was rather surprised when he said nothing at all for the first few minutes of the dance, and decided that it was for her to open a conversation. Panic seized her; she could think of nothing to say, and all the time he was staring glassily across the room. His dancing was quite extraordinary, for his whole body seemed to move, his shoulders most of all. She felt stiff and unyielding, and wished that he would not twist and turn so violently. She began to grow hot and miserable, thinking herself a fool to be unable to speak.

But presently the fair man cleared his throat and said something in a weary voice which Elizabeth could not hear.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, knocking her toe against his.

He took a firmer hold on her and repeated his remark.

“I suppose you dance an awful lot?”

“N-no, this is my first dance,” Elizabeth answered.

This seemed to discourage him, for he said no more for some time. His next observation was made just as they slid past Mrs. Carfew.

“Not such a bad floor, is it?” he said.

Elizabeth felt herself blushing for him; he could not have seen Mrs. Carfew.

“I think it’s awfully good,” she replied.

“Pity there’s no saxophone,” he remarked. “Rotten to have a band without one, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know—quite—what it is,” Elizabeth confessed.

He looked at her blankly, and said, “Oh, really?” He did not speak again until after the dance when he asked if he could get Elizabeth a glass of claret-cup or something. She refused the offer, and then wished that she had accepted it: he looked so disappointed.

“Well, er—better find a place to sit, hadn’t we?”

They chose a sofa in a secluded alcove, and the fair man cleared his throat once or twice.

“Ever been to the Hyde Park?” he enquired, after some mental research.

Elizabeth thought he must have a very short memory if he had forgotten already that this was her first dance.

“No. Is it nice? I’ve always heard that it was lovely.”

“Oh . . .” He seemed to deprecate this enthusiasm. “Not so bad.” Again he racked his brain. “Have you seen Buzz?”