“Then why do you go to dances, where you are so cruelly ill-used?” I asked; “hustled, as you say, and driven about and trampled on?”
“Oh, I only go when duty calls me, and, thank goodness, that is not often. When the ball is given by one’s cousin’s cousin, or one’s aunt, or some old pal of my governor’s.”
“Then your father is actually alive?”
“Alive! I should think so! And a younger man than I am. He dances, so does my mother.”
“Really! And you go about in a bath-chair?”
“Well, not just yet. I’m not altogether so feeble as I look”—in a bantering tone. “I say, are you staying in the house?”
“No; I have only just arrived.”
“Then”—with much animation—“did you notice if it was freezing when you came along?”
“No; it was just beginning to drizzle.”