At that she threw back her coat; she turned and faced me; her lips parted. "Good heavens - why! I - I don't mind it a bit. I - I like waiting." And suddenly her cheeks crimsoned, her eyes grew dark - for a moment I thought she was going to cry. "L - let me, please," she stammered, in a warm, eager voice. "I like it. I love waiting! Really - really I do! I'm always waiting - in all kinds of places ... " All the girls stood grouped together at one side of the doors, the men at the other, and the chaperones in dark dresses, smiling rather foolishly, walked with little careful steps over the polished floor towards the stage.
     "This is my little country cousin Leila. Be nice to her. Find her partners; she's under my wing," said Meg, going up to one girl after another.
     Her dark coat fell open, and her white throat - all her soft young body in the blue dress - was like a flower that is just emerging from its dark bud. Strange faces smiled at Leila - sweetly, vaguely. Strange voices answered, "Of course, my dear." But Leila felt the girls didn't really see her. They were looking towards the men. Why didn't the men begin? What were they waiting for? There they stood, smoothing their gloves, patting their glossy hair and smiling among themselves. Then, quite suddenly, as if they had only just made up their minds that that was what they had to do, the men came gliding over the parquet. There was a joyful flutter among the girls. A tall, fair man flew up to Meg, seized her programme, scribbled something; Meg passed him on to Leila. "May I have the pleasure?" He ducked and smiled. There came a dark man wearing an eyeglass