“There promises to be a good deal of transferring,” I observed. “Something like not having more than one dance with a single partner.”
“And afterwards,” continued the injured Mr Hammond, “Miss Norah is to sit with Tibbet.”
“And I shall be only too charmed to have her,” simpered the Major. “Better late than never. Only unluckily, Miss Norah, I’m in an almost worse plight than Mr Carter, inasmuch as I have only succeeded in procuring two seats, in what, I am given to understand, is called the upper circle—wretched places in the clouds.”
“They’re not seats in which a lady ought to be asked to sit, certain fact.”
“Then,” suggested Mr Rumford, “when it is the Major’s turn, you might let him have your two stalls.”
“Capital notion, Mr Rumford, excellent. I am sure that Mr Hammond will be only too delighted.”
Mr Hammond might be delighted, but he did not show it. He preferred to air a grievance which evidently lay heavy on his mind.
“What I have to say is this. When we made the arrangement you’re all so keen about, it was understood that we should be in the theatre by eight. But it’s now past nine.”
“We are hardly to blame for that.”
“Don’t say you are—don’t say anyone’s to blame,—only stating a fact. But as things are, it comes to this—that, by the time you’ve all had your turns, the performance will be over, and then where shall I be? That’s what I want to know.”