Thank Heaven Fasting by E. M. Delafield

dance. He had, in fact, gone away without saying good-bye to her, although she had seen him making a polite farewell speech to her mother.
    The band broke into a galop, and Monica’s partner—rather an uninteresting young man whose name she had not heard when he was introduced—claimed her.
    â€œStraight home to bed after this, my darling,” she heard her mother murmur as she went past.
    Mrs. Ingram was sitting on a gilt chair near the door, every now and then obliged to jump up in order to receive the thanks and good-nights of departing guests.
    The room was nearly empty.
    Cecily Marlowe, trailing, rather than dancing, drooped over Mr. Pelham’s shoulder. He was shorter by an inch or so than she was.
    Frederica was standing beside her mother. Evidently no one had asked her for the last dance.
    Suddenly the band broke into quick time. Monica’s partner dashed with her across the room—then down, thenup again—It was exhilarating, in spite of the agony of her pinched toes.
    Breathless, they stopped when the music stopped.
    It was all over.
    â€œGood-night—it’s been
too
delightful.”
    â€œGood-night, dear Mrs. Ingram—thank you for such a delightful evening. My girl has loved every minute of it.”
    One woman, in a black velvet dress that Monica thought much too
décolletée,
said to Mrs. Ingram:
    â€œSuch a success, Imogen darling! I’ve heard
everyone
saying how sweet your girl is.”
    Monica blushed and looked away.
    â€œNow, my pet——” Mrs. Ingram hurried her daughter
    to the nearly empty cloak-room, and redeemed their wraps.
    â€œMother, I never said good-night to Lady Marlowe!”
    â€œNever mind, I said it for you. She’s probably half-way home by now. I must say it’s hard on her that those two girls are so heavy in hand. They’ve had every chance—and yet look at them!”
    â€œI think they danced most of the evening,” Monica could afford to say, with conscious superiority.
    â€œI should hope so, at their mother’s ball! Though I saw both of them sitting out once or twice. Let it be a lesson to you, darling,
never
to let yourself seem bored and tired and listless. Nothing puts men off more quickly. Well, did you have a lovely time?”
    â€œOh, lovely, mother. I did enjoy it.”
    â€œThat’s right, darling. Now—into bed as quickly as possible. Parsons is sitting up—she can undo you first, before she comes down to me. And let her take down your hair and brush it out
thorougbly,
Monica. Otherwise it’ll be all tangles to-morrow.”
    â€œI’m not really a bit sleepy, mother. Couldn’t Parsons do you first?”
    â€œNo, darling. You heard what mother said. You’re to sleep as late as you can in the morning, and ring for your breakfast to be brought up to you.”
    Monica had known that there would be no escaping this. She did not argue, aware that it would be useless, and feeling also the burden of obligation laid upon her by her mother, who had taken so much trouble and spent so much money in order that Monica might have a really good start, and meet as many young men as possible.
    At the foot of the stairs, just before going up to bed, she kissed her parents and made them a rather embarrassed little speech, thanking them, and saying how much she had enjoyed herself.
    Her mother answered as she always did, “I don’t want any thanks, my child. Run along now.”
    Her father, more graciously, said:
    â€œThat’s right, my dear little girl. I’m sure you’ll show your gratitude by being very good and obedient and cheerful.”
    Monica said, “Yes, father,” and went upstairs, stopping, directly she was out of sight, to take off her tight shoes.
    She was actually in bed in the dark, before she remembered, with a slight pang, that no one, after all, had proposed to her at her first ball.

Chapter IV
    The Season