The mouths of aldermen inadvertently opened. Mr Duncalf blenched.

"It's nearly over, isn't it?" said the Countess, still efficiently
smiling. She did not recognise Denry. In that suit he might have been a
Foreign Office attaché.

"Oh! that doesn't matter, I'm sure," said Denry.

She yielded, and he took the paradisaical creature in his arms. It was
her business that evening to be universally and inclusively polite. She
could not have begun with a refusal. A refusal might have dried up all
other invitations whatsoever. Besides, she saw that the aldermen wanted
a lead. Besides, she was young, though a countess, and adored dancing.

Thus they waltzed together, while the flower of Bursley's chivalry gazed
in enchantment. The Countess's fan, depending from her arm, dangled
against Denry's suit in a rather confusing fashion, which withdrew his
attention from his feet. He laid hold of it gingerly between two
unemployed fingers. After that he managed fairly well. Once they came
perilously near the Earl and his partner; nothing else. And then the
dance ended, exactly when Denry had begun to savour the astounding
spectacle of himself enclasping the Countess.

The Countess had soon perceived that he was the merest boy.

"You waltz quite nicely!" she said, like an aunt, but with more than an
aunt's smile.

"Do I?" he beamed. Then something compelled him to say: "Do you know,
it's the first time I've ever waltzed in my life, except in a lesson,