Miss T. Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. Shall we say Seven?
Capt. G. And Eleven. (Aside.) She can't be more than eight stone, but, even then, it's an absurdly small foot. (Looks at his own riding boots.)
Miss T. They're beautifully shiny. I can almost see my face in them.
Capt. G. I was thinking whether I should have to go on crutches for the rest of my life if you trod on my toes.
Miss T. Very likely. Why not change Eleven for a square?
Capt. G. No, please! I want them both waltzes. Won't you write them down?
Miss T. I don't get so many dances that I shall confuse them. You will be the offender.
Capt. G. Wait and see! (Aside.) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but—
Miss T. Your tea must have got cold by this time. Won't you have another cup?
Capt. G. No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleasanter out in the veranda? (Aside.) I never saw hair take that color in the sunshine before. (Aloud.) It's like one of Dicksee's pictures.