Thomas, although my first cousin, is not bright; but I had to go.
For the first few dances I escaped; the crowd round the door was so dense that I saw at once that I should be trampled to death if I attempted to enter. Then I was caught by Mary and introduced to a total stranger.
I suppose there are people who do not mind kicking a total stranger round the room to the strain of cymbals, a motor siren and a frying-pan. I fancy the lady expressed a desire to stop, but as her words were lost in the orchestral pandemonium I realised that as long as the dulcet chords continued conversation was impossible; so we danced on.
Fortunately too, when the interval came, she was full of small-talk.
"Isn't the floor good? And I always like this band."
"Quite," said I.
"Rather sporting of the Smythe-Joneses to give a dance."
"Quite," said I.
"Especially when their eldest boy, the one, you know, who was so frightfully good at golf or something, has just got into a mess with—"
"Quite," said I, while she plunged into a flood of reminiscences. She did not ask whether I could jazz, mainly, I think, because I had already danced with her. I concentrated my thoughts on the best means of avoiding Mary when the music began again, and just threw in an occasional "Quite" to keep the lady in a good temper.