The thought of that buoyed her up as the taxi whirled them down hill to Grovebury.
The Desmonds were giving the dance as a coming-out for one of their own daughters, and their house was _en fete_.

An awning protected the porch, red cloth carpeted the steps, a marquee filled the lawn, and a stringed band from Birkshaw had been engaged to play the latest dance music.
Quenrede passed calmly enough through the ordeals of leaving her cloak in the dressing-room (where a crowd of girls were prinking, and there was no room for even a glance in the mirror), and the greeting from her host and hostess in the drawing-room.

It was in the ball-room afterwards that her agony began.

Egbert and Athelstane were whisked away from her to be introduced to other girls, and utter strangers, whose names she seldom caught, were brought to her, took her program, recorded their initials and passed on to book other partners.

The few people in the marquee whom she knew were too far away or too occupied to speak to her, so she stood alone, and heartily wished herself at home.
It was better when the dancing began, though her partners scared her horribly.