“Miss Hayes is a match for most people. She has been pitching into me for not dancing,” said my escort with serene complacency.
“And quite right too, you are a lazy beggar!”
But I noticed that Mr. Somers looked at me with a puzzled air. I dare say he scarcely recognized the meek, shabbily dressed girl of last July in the present Miss Hayes. I was puzzled also—I scarcely recognized myself. I was tête montée; my surroundings, my splendid gown, had transformed me; it was certainly another young woman, a total stranger, who was sauntering about in my body, and treading on air!
“When the dancing begins I shall fetch you, Miss Hayes. I hope you will give me the first waltz,” and he took out a small pencil, “and two others. May I have five and ten?”
“Yes; but I should warn you that I am not an experienced performer.”
“So much the better; you won’t want to steer,” writing rapidly on his shirt cuff.
To my great surprise I saw Mr. Aubrey Price also preparing his shirt cuff for manuscript.
“And I—how many may I have, if you please?”