And she showed me the very handsomest part of it, and so much handsomer than mine, that I can never wear it.
“Polly, I am so glad you know me so well,” said I. “I’m delighted with the dress. To be sure, it’s rather prononce for your style; but that’s nothing.”
Just then a polka struck up. “Come along! give me this turn,” said Boosey, and putting his arm round Mrs. Potiphar’s waist, he whirled her off into the dance.
How I did hope that somebody would come to ask me. Nobody came.
“You don’t dance?” asked Kurz Pacha, who stood by during my little talk with Polly P.
“Oh, yes,” answered I, and hummed the polka.
Kurz Pacha hummed too, looked on at the dancers a few minutes then turned to me, and looking at my bouquet, said:
“It is astonishing how little taste there is for spring-flowers.”
At that moment young Croesus “came in” warm with the whirl of the dance, with Daisy Clover.
“It’s very warm,” said he, in a gentlemanly manner.