Then, again, everyone wants to give a dance on peace night. I'd
settled to give a big affair with some perfectly new departures, and
all the nicest people I wanted have said, "Sorry, dearest, but I'm
giving one myself that night." I've no patience with the silliness and
selfishness of everybody.

Talking of dances, one's getting a bit _dégoûtée_ of Jazz bands and
steps. When _ces autres_ get hold of anything it always begins to
leave off being amusing. There's really a new step, however, the Peace
Leap, that hasn't yet been quite _usé_ and spoilt by the outlying
tribes. The origin of it was a little funny. Chippy Havilland was
at one of Kickshaw's Jazz dinners one night, where people fly out of
their seats to one-step and two-step between the courses and during
the courses and all the time. Well, while Chippy was eating his fish
the band struck up that catchy Jazz-stagger, "She's corns on her
toes," and Chippy, his mouth full of fish, jumped up and began to
dance. _Of course_ several fish-bones flew down his throat, and while
he was choking he did such fearful and wonderful things that the whole
room, not dreaming the poor dear was at his _dernier soupir_, broke
out clapping and shouting and then imitated him, and by the time
Chippy felt better he found himself famous and everybody doing the
Peace Leap, which has completely cut out the Jazz-stagger, the Wolf's
Prowl and everything else.

Oh, my dearest, who _do_ you think are among the crowd of married
people who're going to celebrate peace by dissolving partnership? The
Algy Mallowdenes! Our prize couple! The _flitchiest_ of Dunmow Flitch
pairs! The _turtlest_ of turtle--doves! Whenever people spoke of
marriage as played out other people always weighed in with, "Well, but
look at the Algy Mallowdenes."