The Albert Hall Ball, in aid of the hospitals of London, will be
remembered by many people as one of the most brilliant entertainments of
the brilliant season of 1922. But it will be remembered by Mrs.
Lyon-West--she was a New York Lyon before she married a Hampshire
West--for a remarkable conversation with young Lord Paramour, who, after
dancing with her beautiful daughter, had drifted into her box. The word
“drifted” is here used in its strictly nautical sense, for Lord
Paramour had not the faintest idea into whose box he was entering. He
had, after having danced with Miss Lyon-West (whose name he did not
know, which is a grave reflection on the present state of society)
discovered a distaste for the company of his guests in his own box, and
had wandered to the first door he saw and shoved it open. Lord Paramour
was an abstemious young man, but that night he had indulged in a glass
or so of wine, wittily remarking to a friend that “a chap can’t dance in
cold blood.”
“Why, good-evening, Lord Paramour!” cried Mrs. Lyon-West brightly.
“Ah,” said Lord Paramour. “’Evening. Sorry, I’m sure.” And he proceeded
to drift out of the box again.
“But please don’t go so soon, Lord Paramour! I am _delighted_ to see
you. Only a moment ago I was remarking how _beautifully_ you and my
daughter were dancing together!”
“Your daughter? Ah!” And Lord Paramour, who couldn’t for the life of him
remember the lady’s name, nor where he had met her, sat down and
regarded her benevolently. “Better call her madam,” he thought to
himself.
“Enchanting girl, madam. Enchanting dancer. Enchanting lines.
Enchanting everything. In fact, madam, a very adequate girl, your
daughter.”
“I am _so_ glad you like her,” said Mrs. Lyon-West brightly. Mrs.
Lyon-West had a reputation to keep up as to brightness.
“Like her, madam!” cried Lord Paramour. “I like her enormously. Most
girls, I find, are rather tiresome--but your daughter, madam, is most
unusual. And she is witty, which is remarkable in a girl. Please don’t
deny it--I distinctly heard her say something witty while we were
dancing. She said, if I remember aright: ‘The art of dancing is not to
dance but to avoid other dancers.’ Now that, madam, is a _mot_, in fact
it is a _bon mot_. I am very partial to a bon mot, madam. And
considering that I had just bumped the back of her head into some ass’s
elbow I think it was very apt of her. I was much impressed by your
daughter, madam.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Lyon-West, “looks aren’t everything. A woman
should be clever as well as beautiful----”
“Exactly,” said Lord Paramour. “Exactly. Or quite.”
“She reads such a lot!” sighed Mrs. Lyon-West.
“Well, well, there’s nothing like reading,” said Lord Paramour.
“Personally, I can never find anything to read these days. Lot of
septic trash.”
“But you are so fastidious, Lord Paramour!”
“Oh, not at the moment, madam!”
“Well, then, why are you so long getting married?” asked Mrs. Lyon-West
with a bright smile.
“Lot of trash,” again sighed Lord Paramour. “Young women very inferior
these days, madam. Always, of course, excepting your daughter.”
“Don’t except her. Marry her,” said Mrs. Lyon-West wittily.
“Not bad, that!” chuckled Lord Paramour. “But not good, either. Would
she, d’you think, consider my advances favourably?”
Mrs. Lyon-West thought she would, and Lord Paramour sighed.
“Shall I tell you,” he put to her, “something that I have never told any
one else? Shall I tell you why I have never married and why I cannot
marry your daughter, enchanting though she is? Are you sure you will not
be offended?”
“Tell me,” said Mrs. Lyon-West. “Oh, please tell me!” She had not
dreamed of getting so far.
“Well, it’s like this,” began Lord Paramour sadly. “But I must put it
delicately. If you have read or seen _Trilby_, you will remember that
the three artist fellows were terribly upset on hearing that Trilby had
sat to another artist fellow for the ‘altogether.’ You get my meaning,
madam? You are not offended?”
Mrs. Lyon-West said she did and she wasn’t.
“Well, then, it’s like this. I am, madam, incapable, constitutionally,
physically, and mentally incapable of marrying any one whom I have not
seen in the ‘altogether’----”
“Sir,” said Mrs. Lyon-West, “how dare you?”
“That’s just the point,” sighed Lord Paramour. “I daren’t. And that’s
why I can’t marry any one.” He rose, saying sadly: “I knew you would be
offended. Women are odd. Good-night, madam. Sorry, I’m sure. Enchanting
girl, your daughter. She has promised me this dance. Good-night, madam.”
“Sir,” said Mrs. Lyon-West, “good-night.”