“Let them dance as nature meant them to,” said Aunt Phœbe’s deepest tones. “Madly!”
“Shall we try that Tango we did the other night?” said Hetty, coming behind Peter.
Peter had come forward to the group in the centre of the room. Old habits were strong in him, and he had a vague feeling that this was one of the occasions when Joan ought to be suppressed. “We’re getting chaotic,” he said.
“You see, Peter, I’m Anarchy,” said Joan.
“An ordered Freedom is the best,” said Peter without reflecting on his words.
“Nobby, I want to dance with you,” said Joan.
“I’ve never danced anything but a Country Dance—you know the sort of thing in which people stand in rows—in my life,” said Oswald.
“A country dance,” cried Joan. “Sir Roger de Coverley.”
“We want to try a fox-trot we know,” complained one of the Braughing guests.
Two parties became more and more distinctly evident in the party. There was a party which centred around Hetty and the Sheldrick girls, which was all for the rather elaborately planned freak dances they had more or less learnt in London, the Bunny-Hugs, the Fox-Trot, and various Tangoes. Most of the Londoners were of this opinion, Sopwith Greene trailed Adela with him, and Huntley was full of a passionate desire to guide Joan’s feet along the Tango path. But Joan’s mind by a kind of necessity moved contrariwise to Hetty’s. Either, she argued, they must dance in the old staid ways—Oswald and the Vicarage girls applauding—or dance as the spirit moved them.