“No, I promised it to Fred a week ago. You know I did.”
“The first dance, then,” he urged, “even if it is a square. I am not proud.”
She shook her head emphatically as she replied, “Ghosty bespoke that a year ago.”
“Hang Ghosty! I am sorry I did not leave him at the bottom of that ditch! At any rate you will give me two waltzes, and the supper dance to begin with?”
“Yes, to begin with and end with. Miss Dopping says that in her day it was not correct to dance with any one more than twice.”
“Minuets I presume! and as they took up best part of an hour, I am with her there. Here comes Fred, chortling to himself as he walks. Look at his beautiful shoes, and the gold buttons on his waistcoat.”
“Hullo,” he exclaimed, “down first; Betty, you are an early bird—we will not say anything about the worm,” glancing at George. “What a ripping bouquet! Now I know what old Ghosty was fuming and fussing about, he got it over from Covent Garden.”
“From Covent Garden,” echoed the young lady, “when there are lovely flowers in the hothouses here.”
“Yes, but it’s more swagger to get ’em from town. Remember the first waltz is ours—we will show them how it ought to be done.”
“Speak for yourself! I know I dance abominably. I only hope that I shall not make too humbling an exhibition of myself.”