"Do you ever dance with architects?" I asked her.
"I do sometimes." she said. "Not in Lent," she added.
"In Lent," I agreed, "one has to give up the more furious pleasures. Shall we just finish off this dance? And don't let's talk shop about architecture."
We finished the dance and retired to the stairs.
"I want you to do something for me," I began cautiously.
"Anything except go into supper again. I've just done that for somebody else."
"No, it's not that. The fact is, I have a great friend called
Simpson."
"It sounds a case for help," she murmured.
"He is here to-night disguised as an executioner in glasses. He is, in fact, the only spectacled beheader present. You can't miss him."
"All the same, I managed to just now," she gurgled.