Why, why didn't I do it before it was too late?
As the two neighbouring supper parties amalgamated into one the fun seemed to get even more fast and furious.
It was deafeningly noisy now. And still the noise was rising as more guests came in. People flung themselves about in their chairs; the dancing became, if anything, more of a romp than before.
I had a glimpse of the eyeglassed, young Lord Fourcastles stretching over the table to grab some pink flowers out of a silver bowl. He began sticking them in Miss Million's hair; I saw her toss her little dark head back, giggling wildly; I could imagine the shrill "Ows" and "Give overs" that were coming out of her pink "O" of a mouth.
Then I saw Mr. Burke spring up from his chair again, and put his arm round Miss Vi Vassity's waist, dragging "London's Love" round the tables in a mad prance that I suppose was intended for a one-step, she laughing so much that she could neither dance nor stand still, and giving a generous display of high-heeled, gilt cothurne and of old-gold silk stocking as she was steered and whirled along.
"Stand away from the door, there, Miss. Stand away, please," said one of the hurrying waiters. And I stood away, followed by my grave-faced escort, Mr. Brace. We retired further down the vestibule, among the little knot of attendants and of waiting chauffeurs.
"Have you seen enough of it, Miss Lovelace?" asked Mr. Brace.
"I think so," I said. I was feeling suddenly rather tired, bored by the noise, dazzled by the blaze of pink lights and the whirl of colour. "I don't think I'll wait for Miss Million after all. I'll go home." I meant to think over the talking-to that I should give Million when she returned.
"I'll get you a taxi," began Mr. Brace. But I stopped him.
"I don't want a taxi, thanks——"