this is our dance," said Mary, "shall we one-step for a change?"

"It seems to me," said Eloquent mournfully, "that one does nothing but
change all the time. Now this is a waltz, how can you one-step to a
waltz?"

"Poor man," Mary remarked pityingly. "It _is_ muddling if you're not
used to it. Let us waltz then, that will be a change."

Once round the room they went, and Eloquent felt that never before had
he realised the true delight of dancing. He was very careful, very
accurate, and his partner set herself to imitate exactly his archaic
style of dancing, so that they were a model of deportment to the whole
room. But it was only for a brief space that this poetry of motion was
vouchsafed to him.

Mary stopped.

"Do you see," she asked, "that old lady near the band. She has been
sitting there quite alone all the evening and she must be dying for
something to eat. Don't you think you'd better take her to have some
refreshment?"

"No," said Eloquent decidedly, "not just now. I've been dancing with
all sorts of people with whom I didn't in the least desire to dance
solely because you said I ought, and now I'm dancing with you and I'm
not going to give it up. May we go on again?"

Again they waltzed solemnly round. Again Eloquent felt the thrill that
always accompanies a perfect achievement. Again Mary stopped.

"That old lady is really very much on my conscience," she said; "if you
won't take her in to have some supper, I must get Reggie, he'd do it."

"But why now?" Eloquent pleaded. "If, as you say, she has sat there
all night, a few minutes more or less can make no difference--why
should we spoil our dance by worrying about her? Do you know her?"

"I don't think I know her," Mary said vaguely, "but I have an idea she
has something to do with coal. She's probably one of your
constituents, and I think it's rather unkind of you to be so
uninterested; besides, what does it matter whether one knows her or
not, she's here to enjoy herself, it's our business to see that she
does it. . . ."

"Why our business?" In a flash Eloquent saw he had made a mistake.
Mary looked genuinely surprised this time.

"Why, don't you think in any sort of gathering it's everybody's
business . . . if you see anyone lonely . . . left out . . . one
tries. . . ."

"I've been lonely and left out at dozens of parties in London, where I
didn't know a soul, and I never discovered that anyone was in the least
concerned abo