The Hostess is receiving her Guests at the head of the
staircase; a Conscientiously Literal Man presents himself.
_Hostess_ (_with a gracious smile, and her eyes directed to the people
immediately behind him_). _So_ glad you were able to come--how do you
_do_?
[Illustration]
_The Conscientiously Literal Man_. Well, if you had asked me that
question this afternoon, I should have said was in for a severe attack
of malarial fever--I had all the symptoms--but, about seven o'clock
this evening, they suddenly passed off, and--
[Perceives, to his surprise, that his Hostess's attention
is wandering, and decides to tell her the rest later in the
evening.
_Mr. Clumpsole_. How do you do, Miss THISTLEDOWN? Can you give me a
dance?
_Miss Thistledown_ (_who has danced with him before_--once). With
pleasure--let me see, the third extra after supper? Don't forget.
_Miss Brushleigh_ (_to Major Erser_). Afraid I can't give you anything
just now--but if you see me standing about later on, you can come and
ask me again, you know.
_Mr. Boldover_ (_glancing eagerly round the room as he enters, and
soliloquizing mentally_). She ought to be here by this time, if she's
coming--can't see her though--she's certainly not dancing. There's her
sister over there with the mother. She _hasn't_ come, or she'd be with
them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night--don't think much of
this music--get away as soon as I can, no _go_ about the thing!...
Hooray! There she is, after all! Jolly waltz this is they're playing!
How pretty she's looking--how pretty _all_ the girls are looking! If
I can only get her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it
somewhere! I feel as if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove, I'll
try it!
[Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making his way
towards his divinity, when he is intercepted.
_Mrs. Grappleton_. Mr. BOLDOVER, I do believe you were going to _cut_
me! (_Mr. B. protests and apologises._) Well, _I_ forgive you. I've
been wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've
been thinking so _much_ of what you said that evening about BROWNING'S
relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me
downstairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably
together.
[Dismay of Mr. B., who has entirely forgotten any theories
he may have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to
comply; as he leaves the room with Mrs. GRAPPLETON on his
arm, he has a torturing glimpse of Miss ROUNDARM, apparently
absorbed in her partner's conversation.
_Mr. Senior Roppe_ (_as he waltzes_). Oh, you needn't feel convicted
of extraordinary ignorance, I assure you, Miss FEATHERHEAD. YOU would
be surprised if you knew how many really clever persons have found
that simple little problem of nought divided by one too much for them.
Would you have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in
Pennsylvania containing a sufficient number of gallons to supply all
London for eighteen months? You don't quite realise it, I see. "How
many gallons is that?" Well, let me calculate roughly--taking
the population of London at four millions, and the average daily
consumption for each individual at--no, I can't work it out with
sufficient accuracy while I am dancing; suppose we sit down, and I'll
do it for you on my shirt-cuff--oh, very well; then I'll work it out
when I get home, and send you the result to-morrow, if you will allow
me.
_Mr. Culdersack_ (_who has provided himself beforehand with a set of
topics for conversation--to his partner, as they halt for a moment_).
Er--(_consults some hieroglyphics on his cuff stealthily_)--have you
read STANLEY'S book yet?
_Miss Tabula Raiser_. No, I haven't. Is it interesting?
_Mr. Culdersack_. I can't say. I've not seen it myself. Shall
we--er--?
[They take another turn.
_Mr. C._ I suppose you have--er--been to the (_hesitates between
the Academy and the Military Exhibition--decides on latter topic as
fresher_) Military Exhibition?
_Miss T.R._ No--not yet. What do you think of it?
_Mr. C._ Oh--_I_ haven't been either. Er--do you care to--?
[They take another turn.
_Mr. C._ (_after third halt_). Er--do you take any interest in
politics?
_Miss T.R._ Not a bit.
_Mr. C._ (_much relieved_). No more do I. (_Considers that he has
satisfied all mental requirements_). Er--let me take you down-stairs
for an ice.
[They go.
_Mrs. Grappleton_ (_re-entering with_ Mr. BOLDOVER, _after a
discussion that has outlasted two ices and a plate of strawberries_).
Well, I thought you would have explained my difficulties better than
_that_--oh, what a _delicious_ waltz! Doesn't it set you longing to
dance?
_Mr. B._ (_who sees_ Miss ROUNDARM _in the distance, disengaged_).
Yes, I really think I must--
[Preparing to escape.
_Mrs. Grappleton_. I'm getting such an old thing, that really I
oughtn't to--but well, just this _once_, as my husband isn't here.
[MR. BOLDOVER resigns himself to necessity once more.
_First Chaperon_ (_to 2nd ditto_). How sweet it is of your eldest girl
to dance with that absurd Mr. CLUMPSOLE! It's really too _bad_ of him
to make such an exhibition of her--one can't help smiling at them!
_Second Ch._ Oh, ETHEL never can bear to hurt anyone's feelings--so
different from some girls! By the way, I've not seen _your_ daughter
dancing to-night--men who dance are so scarce nowadays--I suppose they
think they have the right to be a little fastidious.
_First Ch._ BELLA has been out so much this week, that she doesn't
care to dance except with a really first-rate partner. She is not so
easily pleased as your ETHEL, I'm afraid.
_Second Ch._ ETHEL is _young_, you see, and, when one is pressed so
much to dance, one can hardly refuse, _can_ one? When she has had as
many Seasons as BELLA, she will be less energetic, I daresay.
[MR. BOLDOVER has at last succeeded in approaching Miss
ROUNDARM, and even in inducing her to sit out a dance with
him; but, having led her to a convenient alcove, he finds
himself totally unable to give any adequate expression to the
rapture he feels at being by her side.
_Mr. B._ (_determined to lead up to it somehow_). I--I was rather
thinking--(_he_ meant _to say, "devoutly hoping," but, to his own
bitter disgust, it comes out like this_)--I should meet you here
to-night.
_Miss R._ Were you? Why?
_Mr. B._ (_with a sudden dread of going too far just yet_). Oh,
(_carelessly_), you know how one _does_ wonder who will be at a place,
and who won't.
_Miss R._ No, indeed, I don't.--_how_ does one wonder?
_Mr. B._ (_with a vague notion of implying a complimentary exception
in her case_). Oh, well, generally--(_with the fatal tendency of a shy
man to a sweeping statement_)--one may be pretty sure of meeting just
the people one least wants to see, you know.
_Miss R._ And so you thought you would probably meet me. I _see_.
_Mr. B._ (_overwhelmed with confusion, and not in the least knowing
what he says_). No, no, I didn't think that--I hoped you mightn't--I
mean, I was afraid you might--
[Stops short, oppressed by the impossibility of explaining.
_Miss R._ You are not very complimentary to-night, are you?
_Mr. B._ I can't pay compliments--to _you_--I don't know how it is,
but I never can talk to you as I can to other people!
_Miss R._ Are you amusing when you are with other people?
_Mr. B._ At all events I can find things to say to _them_.
Enter Another Man.
_Another Man_ (_to_ Miss B.). Our dance, I think?
_Miss R._ (_who had intended to get out of it_). I was wondering if
you ever meant to come for it. (_To_ Mr. B., _as they rise._) Now
I shan't feel I am depriving the other people! (_Perceives the
speechless agony in his expression, and relents._) Well, you can have
the next after this if you care about it--only _do_ try to think of
something in the meantime! (_As she goes off._) You will--won't you?
_Mr. B._ (_to himself_). She's given me another chance! If only I can
rise to it. Let me see--what shall I begin with? _I_ know--_Supper!_
She hasn't been down yet.
_His Hostess_. Oh, Mr. BOLDOVER, you're not dancing this--do be good
and take someone down to supper--those poor Chaperons are dying for
some food.
[Mr. B. takes down a Matron whose repast is protracted
through three waltzes and a set of Lancers--he comes up to
find Miss ROUNDARM gone, and the Musicians putting up their
instruments.
_Coachman at door_ (_to Linkman, as Mr. B. goes down the steps_).
That's the _lot_, JIM!
[Mr. B. walks home, wishing the Park Gates were not shut, to
as to render the Serpentine inaccessible_
* * * * *
[Illustration: SHADOWING AT HENLEY REGATTA.
TOBY, M.P., TAKES AN INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPH WITH HIS DETECTIVE
CAMERA IN THE BOW OF MR. PUNCH'S BOAT, WITH THE ABOVE EXTRAORDINARY
RESULT.]
* * * * *