He slowly tore the letter across and again across and then into little pieces and carried them to the waste-paper basket.
The action brought home to her with a shock that there was a letter which she, in her turn, must write, must write and post in that glass letter-box, oh, without any hesitation or error, this very evening.

She thought upon it with repugnance, but it had to be written and done with.
It was the consequence of her own folly, her own vanity.

Harry Luttrell returned to her but he did not remark the trouble in her face.
"When I left England," he said slowly, "people were dancing the tango.
That is--one couple which knew the dance, was dancing it in the ball-room, and all the others were practising in the passage.

That's done with, I suppose ?" "Quite," said Joan.
Harry Luttrell heaved a sigh.
"I should have liked to have practised with you in the passage," he said ruefully.
"Still, there are other dances," Joan Whitworth suggested.

"The one-step ?" "That's going for a walk," said Harry Luttrell.
"In an unusual attitude," Joan added demurely.