"Bother! Anyhow, I'm not going to be stopped talking about the tango if I want to. Did you know I was learning? I can do the scissors."
"Good. We'll do the new Fleet Street movement together, the scissors-and-paste. You go into the ball-room and do the scissors, and I'll—er—stick here and do the paste."
"Can't you really do any of it at all, and aren't you going to learn?"
"I can't do any of it at all, Norah. I am not going to learn, Norah."
"It isn't so very difficult, you know. I'd teach you myself for tuppence."
"Will you stop talking about it for threepence?" I asked, and I took out three coppers.
"No."
I sighed and put them back again.
It was the last dance of the evening. My hostess, finding me lonely, had dragged me up to somebody, and I and whatever her name was were in the supper-room drinking our farewell soup. So far we had said nothing to each other. I waited anxiously for her to begin. Suddenly she began.