menfolk flocked around us like Ethiopians flock around a crap game, and I'll bet many a married man had to exercise some ingenuity in the bedtime story he gave friend wife after the ball was over! I danced with Delancey Gregory practically all night and that seemed to work our old friend Grenadier Tompkins into one of those cold furies you read about. Really, two or three times I thought the English athlete was going to prove he was a champion right on the ballroom floor, and finally, to avoid a fox pass, I gave him one waltz. A waltz was all I'd trust him with after the way his eyes devoured me. You can't do much batting out of turn in a waltz!
Well, the Grenadier and I have scarcely started to glide over a floor that would have delighted Maurice when right from behind us comes a sharp command "Cut!" Grenadier Tompkins blinked, instantly stopped dancing and his high-salaried arms fell from around my shrinking form as if he'd been shot. Before he can recover himself I am being whirled away in the embrace of the grinning Delancey Gregory. Honestly, I had to laugh—the whole thing was much funnier than it sounds. To think that the Grenadier had actually become such a slave to that oft repeated word that he'd even stop dancing with me when someone hollered it at him! Before the jam closed in around us I got one glimpse of his rage-contorted face—it was as white
