Hon. Mrs. Vanderbitt Jones, formerly very clam-eye and Buckingham in her appearance of silk clothing, abruptly seize one smallish dance-gentleman and become more Geisha than all others collapsed together.
“It are tango who put the tease into tea,” renounce one gentleman-boy twirkling by with lady-girl.
“You are very Bernard Shaw today, Edgerley,” she report back with eyes. “Of formerly it used to be deliciously difficult to compel men & husbands to come to tea. Now you cannot keep them away with weapons. Why is that swift change?”
“When the tea goes out the tango’s in,” he define, attempting to wear wit under his moustache.
It was very hard science to describe this tango-waltz when I saw it, Mr. Editor. It are similar to a minuet danced by eels. Angry elbows seem to be slipping around everywheres while each ladies and gentlemen seem to be walking sidewise without intending to go there. Such chuckly movements of ducking away from music amid bounces! Such clutch and jolt containing great poetry! I could not unstand how persons could do this American jiu-jitsu without injurious breakage of their personality. And yet no ambulance was called.
While I stood thusly composing thoughts, Hon. Buttler walk to me with side-face moustache similar to Hon. Chauncey Depew when not joking.
“While you are doing nothing you should not stand idly around,” he dib.
“You wish me dance also?” I snuggest.
“I wish you to go to royal reception door downside and permit entrance to all calling guests.” This he say with voice so expensive I feel entirely bankrup.
So I go downside to reception door where I set long-time for lonesome company by the knob. Occasionately that music play so flirtatious that my feet misbehave. Pretty soonly came ring-ring to door. I admit. In come lengthwise gentleman with Woodrow Wilson expression and black-front necktie peculiar to clergy.