“It’s like a starlit sky on an absolutely cloudless night,” Hewet murmured, looking about him, at the airy empty room.

“A heavenly floor, anyhow,” Evelyn added, taking a run and sliding two or three feet along.

“What about those curtains?” asked Hirst.  The crimson curtains were drawn across the long windows.  “It’s a perfect night outside.”

“Yes, but curtains inspire confidence,” Miss Allan decided.  “When the ball is in full swing it will be time to draw them.  We might even open the windows a little. . . .  If we do it now elderly people will imagine there are draughts.”

Her wisdom had come to be recognised, and held in respect.  Meanwhile as they stood talking, the musicians were unwrapping their instruments, and the violin was repeating again and again a note struck upon the piano.  Everything was ready to begin.

After a few minutes’ pause, the father, the daughter, and the son-in-law who played the horn flourished with one accord.  Like the rats who followed the piper, heads instantly appeared in the doorway.  There was another flourish; and then the trio dashed spontaneously into the triumphant swing of the waltz.  It was as though the room were instantly flooded with water.  After a moment’s hesitation first one couple, then another, leapt into mid-stream, and went round and round in the eddies.  The rhythmic swish of the dancers sounded like a swirling pool.  By degrees the room grew perceptibly hotter.  The smell of kid gloves mingled with the strong scent of flowers.  The eddies seemed to circle faster and faster, until the music wrought itself into a crash, ceased, and the circles were smashed into little separate bits.  The couples struck off in different directions, leaving a thin row of elderly people stuck fast to the walls, and here and there a piece of trimming or a handkerchief or a flower lay upon the floor.  There was a pause, and then the music started again, the eddies whirled, the couples circled round in them, until there was a crash, and the circles were broken up into separate pieces.

When this had happened about five times, Hirst, who leant against a window-frame, like some singular gargoyle, perceived that Helen Ambrose and Rachel stood in the doorway.  The crowd was such that they could not move, but he recognised them by a piece of Helen’s shoulder and a glimpse of Rachel’s head turning round.  He made his way to them; they greeted him with relief.

“We are suffering the tortures of the damned,” said Helen.

“This is my idea of hell,” said Rachel.

Her eyes were bright and she looked bewildered.

Hewet and Miss Allan, who had been waltzing somewhat laboriously, paused and greeted the newcomers.

“This is nice,” said Hewet.  “But where is Mr. Ambrose?”

“Pindar,” said Helen.  “May a married woman who was forty in October dance?  I can’t stand still.”  She seemed to fade into Hewet, and they both dissolved in the crowd.