Elizabeth had read a criticism of the revue in the Morning Post; it was evidently a vulgar performance with a good many bare-backed girls in it.

“No, I haven’t,” she said primly.

He sighed, and shook his head.

“Wonderful show!” he said fervently.

Her next partner was better; he was younger, and a lucky question brought forth the information that he owned a motor-bicycle. He was quite content to talk about it all the time, and although the description of its engine did not interest Elizabeth, at least she was spared the necessity of thinking out a good opening to a conversation.

Later in the evening Lawrence asked her if she thought him too dull and old to dance. Elizabeth said no, at once, and got up.

“Nothing at all in this modern dancing!” Lawrence puffed, treading heavily on her toes. “All you have to do is to shift from one foot to the other, and occasionally take a sort of sidestep. ... I beg your pardon!” This to the couple with whom he had collided. “Clumsy young bounder!” he whispered in Elizabeth’s ear. “I don’t see anything in it myself. It’s child’s play. You know, this room’s really rather overcrowded, Elizabeth. You can’t move an inch without having someone bang into you. And I can’t say that I admire this jazz-music. There isn’t any tune about it that I can hear, and the way that fellow keeps blowing the motor-horn is really most ridiculous and out of place.”

Elizabeth had no breath to waste in answering. He swung her violently round and, when she stumbled, said reproachfully and with a touch of superiority that she didn’t seem to be able to fit her steps to his very well.

Miss Arden was awaiting them at home in a red Pyrenees dressing-gown and with her hair in curl-papers.

Elizabeth hugged her, feeling that she was back in haven after a storm.

“Well, darling, and did you enjoy it?” Miss Arden asked, kissing her.

“Of course she did,” Lawrence said, bustling in. “I can tell you, Anne, she was quite a success. Her programme was full up when I saw it.”

Aunt Anne was so anxious to hear that Elizabeth had enjoyed herself, you could not possibly tell her how you had hated most of the men you had danced with, or how miserable you had felt when one of those awful pauses fell in the conversation. She would have been distressed, and would think you were blasé or affected.

“Oh, I loved it, Auntie!” Elizabeth said. “I only wish that you could have been there too.”

Chapter Four