He looked at her programme. The next dance was a polka, and she was not engaged.
"You are free for this dance?" he said.
"Yes, because of my foot," she said firmly. He could see she too was on Aunt Matilda's side, for the moment.
"I can dance a polka. Come and dance it with me," he said.
"And my foot?"
He didn't answer, merely looked her in the face. And she rose.
They neither of them ever forgot that absurd, jogging little dance.
"I must speak to you, Mary," he said.
"What about?"
"Would you really like to live on a farm?"