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On Dancing
by
Some describe the personal appearance, but this is a very risky thing to do. A man the other day wrote down his partner as “Miss blue dress, with the nose,” and subsequently dropped his programme, which, of course, was picked up by the lady mentioned. Now I do not know why you should dislike being told that you have a nose–you would feel very much worse without one–but when your nasal organ takes up double its share of room in your face, and is, moreover, prettily tinted with scarlet, which you try to conceal under a little pearl powder, and only succeed in making it purple–well, perhaps you would not like to be told you have a nose. At any rate, this lady did not, and hers very much resembled this description, I believe. But she was a wise woman. Not a word did she say on the subject, and he went home happily unconscious of her fatal discovery, until a few days later he received his programme back as a Christmas card, with “Miss blue dress with the nose’s compliments.” How very comfortable he must have felt when he met her next!
What a great many different styles of dancing there are! You have to change your step with nearly every partner. The girl should always suit hers to the man’s, he has quite enough to do with the steering. You require about five good partners altogether, and can then spend an enjoyable evening. A different man for every dance is tiring. You never get beyond the theatres and the weather; you have not time to say much more, and grow quite weary of the same style of conversation. I always think I must be a most uninteresting partner when I am asked what theatres I have been to lately, or what is my opinion of the Academy, etc., etc. I never begin this kind of talk myself except as a last resource, when I can get nothing else out of a man. Someone says, I forget who, that “a woman can always know in what opinion she is held by the conversation addressed to her,” and is it not true? The foolish compliments paid to the pretty, but silly little debutante; the small talk to the fools; the sparring with the witty; the risque tales enjoyed by those of a more rapid style. Men find out first what are our tastes, and then dish up their conversation accordingly, and they do not often make mistakes.
Some girls dance with one man the whole evening. How weary they must get of each other! Engaged people invariably pass the evening together, and sometimes do not dance at all, but sit out in some secluded corner. They have to endure one another for years to come, I wonder they do not get as much variety as possible now. At any rate, they might just as well stop at home.
Like everything else, dancing is hurrying along, and growing faster every year. The deux-temps, they say is coming back. May the day be far ahead when that step reigns once more! Perhaps before then I shall be converted into a chaperone, and shall sit watching others dance, not being able to do so myself; or, perhaps worse, not being asked myself. I am afraid I should not make a nice chaperone. I should look very cross, and should hurry away as early as possible. Ah, sad indeed will the day be when I give up dancing, when only the remembrance of my past enjoyments will be brought back to me through the scent of gardenias and tube-roses, dear dissipated-smelling flowers!