The supernatural creature had been rehearsing until 3 a.m., she had been trying on clothes from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m.  She had borne the chief weight of Smack Your Face, on her unique shoulders for nearly three hours and a half.  She had changed into an unforgettable black ball-dress, cut to demonstrate in the clearest fashion that her shoulders had suffered no harm; and here she was as fresh as Aphrodite from the foam.  She immediately set herself to bear the chief weight of the ball on those same defenceless shoulders; for she was, in theory at any rate, the leading organiser of the affair, and according to the entire press it was “her” ball.  As soon as he saw her Mr. Prohack had a most ridiculous fear lest she should pick him out for a dance, and to protect himself he said “All right” to his daughter.

A fox-trot announced itself.  In his own drawing-room, with the door locked, Mr. Prohack could and did treat a fox-trot as child’s play.  But now he realised that he had utterly forgotten every movement of the infernal thing.  Agony as he stood up and took his daughter’s hand!  An awful conviction that everybody (who was anybody) was staring to witness the Terror of the departments trying to jazz in public for the first time.  A sick, sinking fear lest some of his old colleagues from the Treasury might be lurking in corners to guy him!  Agony as he collected himself and swayed his body slightly to catch the rhythm of the tune!  Where in heaven’s name was the first beat in the bar?

“Walk first,” said Sissie professionally....  He was in motion.

“Now!” said Sissie. “One, two. One, two.”  Miraculously he was dancing!  It was as though the whole room was shouting:  “They’re off!” Sissie steered him.

“Don’t look at your feet!” said she sharply, and like a schoolboy he chucked his chin obediently up....  Then he was steering her.  Although her feet were the reverse of enormous he somehow could not keep off them; but that girl was made of hardy stuff and never winced.  He was doing better.  Pride was puffing him.  Yet he desired the music to stop.  The music did stop.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

“Oh, no!” said she.  “That’s not all.”  The dancers clapped and the orchestra resumed.  He started again.  Couples surged around him, and sometimes he avoided them and sometimes he did not.  Then he saw a head bobbing not far away, as if it were one cork and he another on a choppy sea.  It resembled Eve’s head.  It was Eve’s head.  She was dancing with Oswald Morfey.  He had never supposed that Eve could dance these new dances.

“Let’s stop,” said he.

“Certainly not,” Sissie forbade.  “We must finish it.”  He finished it, rather breathless and dizzy.  He had lived through it.

“You’re perfectly wonderful, Arthur,” said Eve when they met.

“Oh no!  I’m no good.”

“I was frightfully nervous about you at first,” said Sissie.