Instead of golden thrones on a dais, there was a Leap Year Birthday Cake
four feet six in diameter, with 196 candles. Instead of the Royal Family,
patrons (and arbiters) were the Duchess of Grafton, the Marchioness of
Reading, Lady Lawrence, Mrs. Winston Churchill and Lady Duncan.
Instead of being on the Crown, as at Buckingham Palace, the party cost
each of the 1,100 guests a matter of 32 shillings sixpence ($6.37). And to
emphasize that Britain is grimly at war, men not in uniform committed
what in peace- time London would have been the most unpardonable
faux pas—instead of coming in white ties, they came in black.

Sixty post-debs of '39 and earlier vintages came in brightly colored ball
dresses, but the '40 debs wore demure Court gowns of white. Two ventured
crinolines, Lady Cecilia Fitzroy, cousin of the Duke of Grafton, Miss Mary
Philippa Gary, niece of Viscount Falkland. Since Britain is bent on making
this a democratic war, privates in uniform did not have to stay off the dance
floor, as in 1914-8, twirled about the Great Room of the Grosvenor on a
social par with their officers. With healthy appetites, debs and escorts
gobbled large slices of the vast cake when it was finally and solemnly cut
by the five hostesses, but of whoopee there was almost none and only
moderate quaffing of champagne.

Big moment of the evening was when Debutante Mary Churchill, a glamor
girl in anybody's country, espied her famed father, the First Sea Lord,
trying to sneak in like a tired bulldog to an inconspicuous table. She
promptly dragged him out to sit with her own café society group, including
the orchidaceous Marquesa de Casa Maury and brilliant carrot-haired
Editor Brendan Bracken of The Banker. Spotting "Winston," the whole
party livened up, everyone sang For He's a Jolly Good Fellow, and at
midnight the Duchess of Grafton permitted something about as daring as
has ever been seen at a top-drawer Mayfair ball. Each of the young men,
fine apple-cheeked lads mostly and quick to blush, was given a Leap-Year
favor which he had to decide on the spot to wear either red side out or
green side out. On the red side was lettered, "Stop. Do not propose." On
the green, "Go ahead, you may propose." After no end of gay squealing
and innocent chaff to the discreet rhythms of Jack Harris, the party wound
up at 3:30 a.m.—and many a drowsy deb was up and in uniform at 7 a.m.
to get on with her war work.