Hostess (with a gracious smile, and her eyes directed to the people immediately behind him). So glad you were able to come—how do you do?
The Conscientiously Literal Man. Well, if you had asked me that question this afternoon, I should have said I was in for a severe attack of malarial fever—I had all the symptoms—but, about seven o'clock this evening, they suddenly passed off, and—
[Perceives, to his surprise, that his Hostess's attention is wandering, and decides to tell her the rest later in the evening.
Mr. Clumpsole. How do you do, Miss Thistledown? Can you give me a dance?
Miss Thistledown (who has danced with him before—once). With pleasure—let me see, the third extra after supper? Don't forget.
Miss Bruskleigh (to Major Erser). Afraid I can't give you anything just now—but if you see me standing about later on, you can come and ask me again, you know.
Mr. Boldover (glancing eagerly round the room as he enters, and soliloquising mentally). She ought to be here by this time, if she's coming—can't see her though—she's certainly not dancing. There's her sister over there with the mother. She hasn't come, or she'd be with them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night—don't think much of this music—get away as soon as I can, no go about the thing!... Hooray! There she is, after all! Jolly waltz this is they're playing! How pretty she's looking—how pretty all the girls are looking! If I can only get her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it somewhere! I feel as if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove, I'll try it!
[Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making his way towards his divinity, when he is intercepted.
Mrs. Grappleton. Mr. Boldover, I do believe you were going to cut me! (Mr. B. protests and apologises.) Well, I forgive you. I've been wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've been thinking so much of what you said that evening about Browning's relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me down stairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably together.
[Dismay of Mr. B., who has entirely forgotten any theories he may have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to comply; as he leaves the room with Mrs. Grappleton on his arm, he has a torturing glimpse of Miss Roundarm, apparently absorbed in her partner's conversation.