And there was old Mrs. Powers in her place, absurdly light and elastic, treading the floor in her flat, old-woman’s shoes with brilliant precision.

“All promenade!” cried Frank, this time his voice exultant that the end was successfully reached.

He seized Nelly by the waist and danced with her the length of the room, followed by the other couples.  The music stopped.  He released her instantly, made a strange, stiff little bow, and turned away.  The set was over.

“There!” said Mrs. Powers, breathing quickly. “’Twan’t so hard as you thought ‘twas goin’ to be, was it?”

“Good-evening,” said Mr. Bayweather on the other side, wiping the pink roll at the back of his neck.  “What do you think of our aboriginal folk-dancing?  I’ll warrant you did not think there was a place in the United States where the eighteenth century dances had had an uninterrupted existence, did you?”

“I assure you I had never thought about the subject at all,” said Vincent, edging away rapidly towards escape.

“Fascinating historical phenomenon, I call it,” said the clergyman.  “Analogous to the persistence of certain parts of old English speech which is to be observed in the talk of our people.  For instance in the eighteenth century English vocabulary, the phrase . . .”

His voice died away in the voices of the people Vincent had put resolutely between them shoving his way through the crowd, recklessly.  He was struck by the aspect of the people, their blood warmed, their lips moist, their eyes gleaming.  The rooms were growing hot, and the odor of pines was heavy in the air.

He found himself next to Nelly Powers, and asked her to dance with him, “although I don’t know at all how to do it,” he explained.  She smiled, silently, indifferently, confidently, and laid her hand on his arm in token of accepting his invitation.  Vincent had a passing fancy that she did not care at all with whom she danced, that the motion itself was enough for her.  But he reflected that it was probably that she did not care at all whether she danced with him.

From the other end of the room came Frank’s deep-mouthed shout, “The set is forming!  Promenade to your places!”

Nelly moved swiftly in that direction and again Vincent found himself opposite Frank, dancing this time with Marise Crittenden.

The music broke out into its shaking, quavering iteration of the pulse of the dance.

“Salute your partners!”

This time Vincent knew what to do, and turning, bowed low to Nelly, who made him a deep courtesy, her toe pointed, instep high, her eyes shining, looking straight at him but evidently not seeing him.  The music seemed to float her off on a cloud.

“Chassay to the corners, right!”

Vincent untangled the difference between “chassay” and “balance” and acquitted himself.  Now that his first panic of astonishment was over, he observed that the figures of the dance were of great simplicity, all but the central part, the climax.