Miss Daintree. So I am—to such a horrid little man. That’s why I fled. He won’t think of coming here after me!
The M.S. What made you give him a dance at all?
Miss D. JACK brought him up to me—so naturally I thought he was a dear friend of his, but it seems he only sat next to him at table d’hôte, and JACK says he pestered him so for an introduction, he had to do it—to get rid of him. So like a brother, wasn’t it?... Oh, AMY, he’s coming—what shall I do? I know he can’t dance a little bit! I watched him trying.
The M.S. Can’t you ask him to sit it out?
Miss D. That’s worse! Let’s hope he won’t notice us.—Ah—he has!
[Mr. CUBSON, a podgy young man with small eyes and a scrubby moustache, wearing a tailless evening-coat and a wrinkled white waistcoat, advances.
Mr. Cubson. Our dance, I believe? (The Orchestra strikes up.) Isn’t that the Pas de Quatre? To tell you the truth, I’m not very well up in these new steps, so I shall trust to you to pull me through—soon get into it, y’know.
Miss D. (to herself). If I could only get out of it! (She rises with a look of mute appeal to her Sister.) We can go through this room. (They pass into the Salle des Petits Chevaux.) Stop one minute—I just want to see which horse wins. Don’t you call this a fascinating game?
Mr. C. Well, I don’t understand the way they play it here—too complicated for me, you know!