Peggy shook her head in consternation at Rachel's comments. Rachel was probably right about what the young woman was thinking; in her position (although of course Peggy would never have been in her position) she would have been just as keen to avoid drawing any more attention to herself. It had been a loud enough noise that anyone who was going to notice already had, though. She wasn't saving any of her dignity by clinging to the dance, and she stood to lose a good deal more of it if the skirt tore again. It occurred to Peggy that it wouldn't be hard to mend it with magic... even without leaving the dance floor, she could have used a quick charm to shrink the now-dangling bit of fabric so that it created less of a trip hazard, and therefore less of a risk of further wardrobe disaster. Peggy could even do it from here, come to think of it — but a part of her was morbidly curious to see how this played out without interference. She and Louisa Quibbleberry, the dancer in question, had never been the closest of friends.
"Do you know the name of the gentleman?" she asked Rachel, tone low and vaguely conspiratorial. "I might avoid putting it on my dance card, if he's really so oblivious." She did not know that fresh debutantes usually had a good deal of choice whose name did or didn't go on their dance card, but nevermind.
"Do you know the name of the gentleman?" she asked Rachel, tone low and vaguely conspiratorial. "I might avoid putting it on my dance card, if he's really so oblivious." She did not know that fresh debutantes usually had a good deal of choice whose name did or didn't go on their dance card, but nevermind.
