"Right," says Tunbridge Wells.
When they get to the gardens his friend takes him aside.
"I say," he begins anxiously, "I hope you won't mind, but the fact is that I've promised you shall dance in a minuet to-night. Old George particularly wants to see one."
"But I simply couldn't," says Tunbridge Wells, in alarm. "Can't you get somebody else?"
"Oh, but you must. I've got you a jolly partner—the Duchess of Kirkcudbright (N.B.). You know the minuet, of course?"
"Well, I've learnt it; but I've very nearly forgotten it again. And my shoes are beastly uncomfortable. Before the King too! It's a bit steep, you know."
"Well then, you will. Good man."
"No, no," cries Tunbridge Wells hastily, and leads his friend aside under the trees. "I say," he begins mysteriously, "don't say anything, but—well, it's rather awkward ... I may as well tell you ... these—er—these things are a bit tight. They look all right like this, you know, but when you bend down—well, I mean I have to be jolly careful."
"I was just thinking how pretty they were. A beautiful thing, that," he adds, pointing to a crescent moon in blue on Tunbridge Wells' left knee.
"Don't touch," says Wells in alarm, "it comes off like anything. I lost a dragon-fly only yesterday. Well, you see how it is, old man. But for them I should have loved it. Only ... I say, don't be a fool.... Your servant, Duchess. I was just saying ... yes, I am devoted to it.... Yes.... Yes. Let's see, it is the left foot, isn't it? (Confound that idiot!)"