The small boy gazed distressfully at Helen, but she was quite equal to him, smiling with that sweet smile that was kept entirely for strangers or important visitors and saying:
“What is it? Oh, a polka. . . . That will be lovely. I do like polkas, don’t you?”
At that moment the band struck up, and in another instant the floor was covered with figures. The tall, gawky boy dragged off Mary, who had said not a word, but stared at him with distressed eyes through her spectacles.
Helen took absolute charge of her partner, moving away with such grace and elegance that Jeremy was suddenly proud of her and seemed to see her as she really was for the first time in his life.
Then he realized that he was alone, absolutely alone, stuck against the wall, a silly gawk, for all the world to look at and despise.
III
He set his chin, squared his shoulders, and tried to look as though he were there by preference. No one now paid any attention to him; the music swung on, and although he had never danced in his life, his toes kept time inside his shoes. He gazed haughtily around him, stared at the dancers as they passed him, and was miserable.
Then the stout lady who had carried off Mary and Helen suddenly appeared again and said:
“What! Not dancing? You’re Jeremy Cole, aren’t you? Come along. I’ll find you a partner.”
He was led away and precipitated at the feet of a very stout lady who stared at him in a frozen way and a frightened little girl. He had a programme in his hand and was going to ask her for some future polka, when the mountainous lady said in a deep bass voice: