The Major turned and stared, really uncertain as to whether it could be himself who was thus addressed.
"It's Mr. Blair, Dad," explained Joan hurriedly, "who was so nice to me on the train; don't you remember?"
The Major still stared. But innate hospitality triumphed: and perhaps there was something disarming, too, in the wide-apart front teeth of Mr. Blair, which, as Joan had previously observed, gave him an oddly innocent expression.
"Very well, young top!" he murmured courteously, "I surrender my daughter to your mercies."
The two danced away, Blair holding his prize as if he did not know quite what to do with her now that he had got her.
"For goodness' sake, take hold of me!" she instructed after a moment. "I feel as if I were about to float out of your grasp. I won't break, you know!"
Archie obediently held her tighter, murmuring, "Pardon me!"
He danced surprisingly well, as if he were really listening to the music, Joan thought. She did not trouble to talk to him, therefore.
"So that was your father," he said after a long and anxious silence. "Why, he's a peach, hopping around like that at his age!"
"Rather more of a pear, don't you think? As to figure?" suggested Joan; for the Major's tendency to embonpoint had increased remarkably since his marriage.