"You can't always. Oh, hell!"
"What's the matter now?"
"This blasted sword again," said Faust disgustedly. He hitched it round. "Can't dance with it, can't move a step without jabbing somebody in the shins with it. I'm going to park it somewhere soon and trust to luck that Joan doesn't spot it."
Joan, a dazzlingly fair Marguerite, passed at that moment in the arms of an Arab sheikh. She caught sight of the two in the doorway and slid out of the dance, drawing her partner with her. "Haven't you got a partner for this one?" she asked in concern. "Point me out somebody you'd like to be introduced to."
"My dear old soul, I can't dance with this sword on," protested Corkran. "I've made myself fairly unpopular as it is."
"That," said the sheikh, "is putting it mildly. I've got about an inch of skin missing from my calf."
"Oh, dear," said Joan, looking distressed. "Can't you manage to keep it out of people's way, darling?"
"I can," said Faust. "I can go and take the blighter off."
"But you look so awfully nice with it on," she sighed. "You ought to lay your hand on the hilt, like that."
"In the best circles," interposed Amberley, "it was never considered really good form to dance with a sword at one's side."