“You’d better take her now. She’s been waiting long enough,” staring at the genial introducer as she spoke.
Jeremy led away his victim. He was acutely miserable, but the agony of stumbling, bumping and incoherent whirling did not last long because the band suddenly stopped, and before he knew it he was sitting on the steps of a staircase with his partner and staring at her.
She said not a word; then he saw that she was terrified and pity held him.
“Do you like dances?” he asked hoarsely.
“I’ve never been to one before,” she answered in a convulsive whisper, looking as though she were about to cry.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“Five, Pemberton Terrace, Polchester,” she answered breathlessly.
“Was that your mother?”
“No. Auntie.”
“How many aunts have you?”