"Give it up," replied Mavis.
"Why, no less than three shillin's, wasn't it, Mr Poulter?"
"True enough," replied Mr Poulter. "But I must admit the attendants did look 'old-fashioned' at you, if you 'ad two glasses of claret-cup running."
By this time, they were outside of the front door, where Mr Poulter paused, as if designing not to go any further into the night air, which, for the time of year, was close and warm.
"I don't want to give the 'Bush' the chance of saying Poulter never shows himself outside the walls of the academy," remarked the dancing-master complacently.
"There's so much jealousy of fame in the 'Bush,'" added Miss Nippett.
As they stood on the steps, Mavis could not help noticing that whereas Miss Nippett had only eyes for Mr Poulter, the latter's attention was fixed on the plaster figure of "Turpsichor" to the exclusion of everything else.
"A classic figure"—(he pronounced it "clarsic")—"gives a distinction to an academy, which is denied to mongrel and mushroom imitations," he presently remarked.
"Quite so," assented Mavis.
"She has been with 'Poulter's' fifteen years."