He stepped along the floor, looking about him from side to side; he thought he saw her, started forward, and felt someone touch him on the arm. He turned round. Mary was at his shoulder.

“Hallo!” he said. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Oh, Jeremy, do wait a moment.” She looked at him piteously.

“Well, what is it?”

“Come out here for a moment. Please do.”

He did not want to hurt her, but this pause was an agony to him.

“What is it?” he asked crossly when they were in the hall outside the ballroom.

“Oh, Jeremy, it’s all so horrid. Do dance with me. One little boy danced with me and then his mother tried to make him dance again and he wouldn’t, and I’m sure it wasn’t my fault, because I danced much better than he did. And then Herbert said he could dance and he couldn’t, and we fell down and he didn’t seem to mind at all; but I minded because everyone laughed and I tore my dress. And there hasn’t been anybody to dance with for ever so long, and Helen’s been dancing all the time.... Oh, Jeremy, do dance with me! I do love dancing so, and you haven’t danced with me all the evening.”

It was true that he had not, but oh! how he wished her at the other end of England at that moment! She looked so foolish with her hair all over the place and her dress untidy, her sash pulled round the wrong way and her stockings wrinkled. And every moment was precious. She would be looking for him, wondering where he was, thinking him mean thus to break his promise when she had given him so especial a favour.

At that thought he started away.

“No, no, Mary. Later on we’ll have a dance, two if you like. But not now. I can’t, really.”

But Mary was desperate.

“Oh, Jeremy, you must! I can’t sit there any more and be looked at by everyone. Oh, please, Jeremy. I’ll give you my mother-of-pearl box, if you will.”

“I don’t want your old box,” he said gruffly. He looked at her, looked away, looked back at her, said:

“All right, then. Come on.”

His heart was like lead. The evening was ruined for him, and not only the evening, but perhaps his whole life. And yet what was he to do? Mary would cry if he left her. She had had a miserable evening. Something in him was touched, as it always was, by her confident belief that he, and he alone in all the world, could always put things right. It was just his cursed luck! His evening was ruined; he hoped that after this they would go home.

They had what seemed to him the most miserable of dances, but he could see that Mary was what Uncle Samuel called “seventh heavened.” She bounced about, stamping her heels on Jeremy’s toes, bumping into him, suddenly pushing back her wild hair from her frenzied face, giving little snorts of pleasure, humping her shoulders, tossing her head. Round and round they went, dancing what they imagined to be a polka, Jeremy with his face grimly set, agonized disappointment in his heart. When it was over they sat out on the stairs and Mary panted her thanks.

“That was—lovely, Jeremy—we do dance—well together—don’t we? That was the nicest—I’ve ever had—I do hope—we’ll have another.”

“I expect it’s awfully late,” said Jeremy gloomily. “We’ll be going home soon.”

Soon the music began again and at the bottom of the stairs, to Jeremy’s immense relief, they met Mrs. Carstairs with the serious-faced Herbert.

“That’s right, Mary, dear,” Mrs. Carstairs said. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s time we went down to supper. Herbert shall take us down. Have you had supper, Jeremy?”

He muttered some excuse and was off. With beating heart he searched the crowds. Nowhere. Nowhere. He searched the fast-emptying ballroom, then the hall; then, with tears in his eyes and a choked, strangling in his throat, was turning back, when he caught sight of the diamond star high above the other heads, and the lovely soft black hair and the jolly smile.

“Traitor!” she said. “You forgot, after all.”

“No, I didn’t forget. It was my sister.”

But there was no time for explanation.

“Did you go with someone else to supper?”

“Yes; I’ve had supper.”

“Oh!” He half turned away. A tear was near its fall. “I suppose you couldn’t——”

“Yes, I could.” She twirled him round. “I can have any number of suppers. I can have supper all day and supper all night. Come along. You shall take me down in style. I put my arm through yours like that—see? No, the right. Now we lead the way. Who’s coming down to supper?”

His pride and his happiness! Who shall describe them? His back was so straight as they walked down the stairs that he almost fell backwards. The supper-room was a clatter of noise, but he was not so proud but that he was suddenly hungry—wildly, savagely hungry. She piled his plate with things, watching him, laughing at him.

“Nobody’s cut the cake yet,” she cried. “You shall cut it, Jeremy!”

An old stout servant with white hair, who had been watching her with smiling eyes, brought a huge castle, with towers and battlements and flags, and placed it in front of her. She made Jeremy stand on his chair. She gave him a great knife and showed him where to cut. Everyone at the other tables stopped eating and turned round to see. Then they shouted and clapped.

“One, two, three!” he cried, and cut into the cake.

Then they all cheered.

“Bravo,” she said. “You did that very well. Now Janet will cut the rest. You must have a piece and I must have a piece. Perhaps one of us will get the ring or the thimble.”

And, miracle of miracles, he got the ring, the silver ring! She put it on his finger herself. He flushed, his lip trembled. He felt that he wanted everything to end just then, at that moment—for nothing more ever to happen again.

When he had had three ices, one after the other, she decided that supper was over. They walked out of the room as they had walked into it, in stately fashion, her arm through his.

Then at the top of the stairs there was Mrs. Carstairs.

“Come, Jeremy dear,” she said. “It’s time to go home. The carriage is there.”

He saw that the tall major was also there.

“Hullo, young ’un,” he said. “Had a good supper?”

He nodded his head. But he had eyes only for her.

“I’m glad I got that ring,” he whispered, “because you put it on my finger. And I’ll never take it off till I die.”

“Not even when you wash?” she asked, laughing.

“I won’t wash that finger,” he said.

The major put his hand on his shoulder.

“Here, I’ve got a secret for you. Shut your eyes.” Jeremy shut them. The major’s hands were at his white waistcoat pocket. “Now don’t you look till you’re on your way home. And I’ll tell you something. You’ve shown excellent taste to-night. You couldn’t have shown better if you were a hundred.”

She bent down and kissed him.

“Good night,” she said. “Will you write and tell me about the football?”

“You bet your life,” he answered, staring at her. That was the favourite oath just then at Thompson’s.

She laughed again. Then, bending down, whispered in his ear dramatically: “If I’m ever in trouble and need you, will you come, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.

She kissed him again.