“This is Oonagh,” she began. “Listen, Annette—” a tiny pause and then a tiny laugh, “—I do call you, Annette, don’t I?”
    “I expect so,” was the reply, resigned rather than enthusiastic.
    “Well, look—it’s about the Reel Club tonight. Alison can’t take me because she isn’t a member, so she suggested I might ask you if I could be your guest—” She waited. Was Annette a member or not? She was, but not, apparently, dying to take a guest.
    “Have you done any Scottish dancing?” she asked after a noticeable delay. “The standard is pretty high.”
    “Well—” another laugh, “—I can get by. I do rather want to come tonight, actually, because I’m really awfully keen and a friend of mine is coming to take me out and we—well, we thought it might be a good thing to join. I haven’t before,” explained Oonagh, “because of transport, but now—” 
    Now transport was no longer a difficulty. A new boy-friend. Annette thought fast. She was sure it was a mistake to make a thing of Oonagh. The fact that she—and everyone else—disliked the girl was the worst possible reason for refusing to oblige and if the new boy-friend came up to scratch she would soon, it might be hoped, lose interest in the School. Encourage the affair by all means.
    “Very well, Oonagh,” she said. “Eight o’clock. You can get yourself there?”
    “Oo—yes! Of course we can,” the response was exultant. “Heaven! Thanks most terribly, Annette. You are sweet to me—”
[ . . . ]
    “Guests?” shouted an authoritative voice in his ear. “Whose guests?”
    A club whose members are widely scattered and which has no geographical centre has little hope of survival unless it contains at least one fanatic. Miss Iona Macadam was the Ledshire Reel Club’s fanatic and if her discipline was harsh and members found themselves dragooned to a greater zeal than they always desired they complained very little. Miss Macadam did all the work and she also demanded—and got—a standard of performance good enough to be enjoyable. So long as she was at the helm there was no danger of the Club’s activities degenerating into a boisterous romp or half-hearted pushing and pulling. She looked the guests up and down in the manner of a sergeant inspecting unpromising recruits while Mrs. Courtney admitted responsibility, then she barked:
    “H’m. Beginners, of course,” Oonagh began her little laugh and deprecating murmur about the Gay Gordons but Miss Macadam was not listening. “Well—we’ll have to do our best with them, I suppose, as they’re here,” she said. “Come along. We’ll start with an easy one. Petronella. Hi!” very sharply, “Shoes.” She pointed to Oonagh’s feet. “You haven’t changed.”
    With the exception of Annette who had withdrawn, feeling it hard that having done a Christian thing which she didn’t in the least want to do she should be reproached for it by Iona Macadam, everybody Oonagh knew seemed to be standing about looking at her feet. She glared at their feet in return. Alison and Marthe and all the men wore gym shoes, Miss Macadam, Frances and others wore flat black affairs with rows of neat little peninsulas which contained holes for laces.
    “I always dance in heels,” she began.
    “Not here you don’t,” said the voice of Angus firmly. “Not one step do you take on the gym floor with those.”
    There was a loud hoot of laughter from Miss Macadam and at the same moment Butler, the School House prefect, came helpfully forward with a selection of abandoned gym shoes. Eric, looking very sulky, had a fair choice. Oonagh had to take the smallest, dark grey in colour with peeling toe-caps and messily fringed holes. She put on the shameful things and walking flat-footed and awkward into the gym went to join Eric who took no notice of her.
    “Sorry,” she muttered. “This is a number one flop. Not a bit what they told me. Should we—”
    “Better get partners for these people,” said Miss Macadam with breezy long-suffering.
    “Eric’s my—”
    “Can’t have two duffers together. Mr. Singleton!” the command­ing voice rose powerfully on the last syllable. “Take Miss—er, will you? Joy! Miss Scobie,” to Eric, “will push you through.”
    Oonagh saw thin fair hair, a nervous smile and a clerical collar. “This way,” said the Leyburn curate kindly.
    “Come along,” said an encouraging female voice from the level of Eric’s elbow.
    Oonagh, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her mistake, suffered herself to be led to the right. Eric was steered by Miss Joy Scobie to the left. He had never in his life felt such a fool and consequently he had never felt so angry. He would have walked out from the changing room leaving his new girl-friend flat if it hadn’t been that it would have made him look even sillier. He was going just as soon as this first damn silly dance was finished anyway, and the only question remaining was whether he would leave Oonagh where she was or take her with him in order to wring her little neck.
    He was lined up with the other men in the set, facing Miss Scobie in a row of women. The music started with a long chord, there was a lot of bowing at which he glared resentfully. Then the tune began and the four people at the top of the double line of dancers began the diamond figure and he collected himself to watch and listen, having no desire to look sillier than he must when his turn came. He was a very good dancer; he had a quick ear, a quick eye and a well co-ordinated body and by the time the pattern of the dance and the lilting tune had been completed twice he was getting the hang of it. When they had worked their way up to the top and reached the point of action he grinned at Miss Scobie, forgetting that she was a plain, flat-footed little old square with a bun, and plunged manfully in.
    “Gee!” he exclaimed when it was over, warm with successful accomplishment. “That wasn’t too bad.”
    “Very good indeed for a beginner,” said Miss Scobie.     To Oonagh, Petronella had been no more than humiliating confusion and she had been ready to grovel as much as Eric liked and abandon Ledenham and dignity in a hasty retreat. But her punishment was different. Eric was enjoying himself. They were there for the evening.