occasional "Quite" to keep the lady in a good temper.

But there was no escaping Mary.

"You _must_ go and dance with Miss Carter," she told me, adducing
incontrovertible arguments. I am terrified of Miss Carter, who can
only be described as "statuesque" and always does the right thing
(which makes her crushing to the verge of discourtesy). I am always
being asked if I know whether she is "only twenty-two." It was not
without satisfaction that I initiated her into my style of dancing.

To my horror, when we stopped she sat in silence, regarding me with
an air of expectant boredom. I racked my brains.

"Good floor, isn't it?" said I.

"Quite," said Miss Carter.

"Jolly good band too."

"Quite," said Miss Carter.

"And rather sporting of the Smythe-Joneses, don't you think?"

She said it again. By this time I felt convinced that all the other
couples within hearing were listening to us. Miss Carter is that sort
of person.

"Of course," I said with a nervous laugh, "it's rather absurd for me
to say anything about it, because, you know, dancing isn't much in my