_The M.S._ What made you give him a dance at all?

_Miss D._ JACK brought him up to me--so naturally I thought he was
a dear friend of his, but it seems he only sat next to him at _table
d'hôte_, and JACK says he pestered him so for an introduction, he
_had_ to do it--to get rid of him. So like a brother, wasn't it?...
Oh, AMY, he's _coming_--what _shall_ I do? I know he can't dance a
little bit! I watched him trying.

_The M.S._ Can't you ask him to sit it out?

_Miss D._ That's _worse_! Let's hope he won't notice us.--Ah--he
_has_!

[Illustration: "Our dance, I believe?"]

[_Mr. CUBSON, a podgy young man with small eyes and a scrubby
moustache, wearing a tailless evening-coat and a wrinkled
white waistcoat, advances._

_Mr. Cubson_. Our dance, I believe? (_The Orchestra strikes up._)
Isn't that the _Pas de Quatre?_ To tell you the truth, I'm not
very well up in these new steps, so I shall trust to you to pull me
through--soon get into it, y'know.

_Miss D._ (_to herself_). If I could only get _out_ of it! (_She
rises with a look of mute appeal to her_ Sister.) We can go through
this room. (_They pass into the Salle des Petits Chevaux._) Stop one
minute--I just want to see which horse wins. Don't you call this a