"Thank you, I won't," replied Mavis, who was not in the least danger of losing her foothold.
"'E invented it."
"Invented what?"
"This floor wax. It's Poulter's patent," the little woman reverently informed Mavis.
"He must be rather clever!"
"Rather clever! It's plain you've never met 'im."
Mavis sat down to the piano, but did not do herself justice over the first waltz she played, owing to the faultiness of the instrument. As with many other old pianos, the keys were small; also, the treble was weak and three notes were broken in the bass.
"Try again!" said the little woman dubiously.
By this time, Mavis had mastered the piano's peculiarities; she played her second waltz resonantly, rhythmically.
"I think you're up to 'Poulter's,'" said the little woman critically, when Mavis had finished. "And what about terms?"