Horace.
No, no. She—she's a lady and all that. They all are. Highly respectable girls! They only give their dances at private parties.
Sylvia.
I don't think you need have engaged them for yours! Really, Horace!
[The music stops; all, except the Principal Dancer, who remains standing and smiling at Horace, fall on their hands and faces in a line across the stage.
Horace.
It was a mistake. But I'll get rid of them! [He rises and goes towards the Principal Dancer.] It's charming—charming—but that will do, you know. You can go away now. You can all of you go away!
[The Principal Dancing Girl, with a swift, sudden movement, throws herself at his feet and embraces his knees; Sylvia starts up indignantly. The Professor, Mrs. Futvoye, and Pringle rise also.
Principal Dancing Girl.