"It is giving a ball, not going to one, that is so exhausting!"
yawned Francesca. "How many times have I danced all night with half
the fatigue that I am feeling now!"

The sound of music came across the street through the closed door of
our sitting-room. Waltz after waltz, a polka, a galop, then waltzes
again, until our brains reeled with the rhythm. As if this were not
enough, when our windows at the back were opened wide we were quite
within reach of Lady Durden's small dance, where another Hungarian
band discoursed more waltzes and galops.

"Dancing, dancing everywhere, and not a turn for us!" grumbled
Francesca. "I simply cannot sleep, can you?"

"We must make a determined effort," I advised; "don't speak again,
and perhaps drowsiness will overtake us."

It finally did overtake Francesca, but I had too much to think
about--my own problems as well as Patricia's. After what seemed to
be hours of tossing I was helplessly drawn back into the sitting-
room, just to see if anything had happened, and if the affair was
ever likely to come to an end.

It was half-past two, and yes, the ball was decidedly 'thinning
out.'

The attendants in the lower hall, when they were not calling
carriages, yawned behind their hands, and stood first on one foot,
and then on the other.