liked that to go on for ever. And how long shall I have to wait before it begins again?"
Archie had sidled through the crowd up to them.
"Helena, we're going to have another waltz at once," he cried. "Don't let us waste any of it."
She laid her hand on his arm.
"We?" she said. "Are you quite certain?"
"May I say 'we' also?" asked Lord Harlow.
She turned towards him, but her hand still rested on Archie, and he felt the slight pressure from her fingertips.
"Oh, I was only teasing my cousin," she said. "I had promised him another waltz. But, later, may I borrow my Bradshaw again?"
The band struck up, setting her a-tingle for the repetition of what had gone before.
"Oh, Archie, come on," she cried. "Au revoir, Bradshaw."
Alert for movement, with the heady tune of the waltz already mounting into them like wine, they stepped off on to the floor. It was like stepping on to some moving platform; it and the tune, without any conscious effort of their own, seemed to carry them away. But Archie had one question to ask before he abandoned himself.
"Bradshaw?" he said. "I thought you told me his name was Harlow."
She gave a little bubble of laughter.
"Oh, that was only a joke," she said. "He told me that you and I were like a Bacchic festival, and he felt as prosy as a Bradshaw in consequence."
"But what does it matter to him what we are like?" asked he.
"Well, it was a compliment; he meant it nicely," said she. "Don't let us talk; it rather spoils it."
Helena reviewed those manœuvres when she got home that night, and she congratulated herself on the
