Betty [jumps up angrily]: The very idea! There’s only one boy I’ve danced with who’s ever trampled on my feet and you’re not going to get the chance tonight, so there! [Stamps foot with slipper on, grimaces and hops on one foot.] Ouch!
Jack: What’s the matter?
Betty: I—I—oh, I turned on my ankle. It’s weak you know.
Jack: It wasn’t the slipper’s fault, was it?
Betty [indignantly]: Of course it wasn’t; the very idea, as though it could hurt anything. [Goes behind his back, takes off slipper and rubs her toes.]
Jack: But that slam you gave me, you didn’t mean what you said, did you?
Betty: What about?
Jack: Why, my dancing, and—
Betty: I do, I mean every word of it.
Jack: Well. I’m sorry, Betty, if I have offended you. Take these if you want to. All I can say is that I’d hate to have to stand in your shoes.