“Wait, I’ll show you how it’s done!”
And, in an instant, to show them all how you’re got up when you’re a star and when you come back from the continent, Lily took off her bodice, pinned up her skirt amid the rustling of the silk and, bare-armed, in a lace-trimmed chemisette:
“Now then, I’ll show you!”
And Lily, with all her little muscles alive, took a bike, jumped on it as she would on a stool and then—yoop!—the bike on its back-wheel, spinning round like a top.
“Twirls are as easy as anything: you only have to know how to do them. Come on! Have a try!”
And the other, encouraged by a friendly slap, tried in her turn and—yoop!—succeeded ... very nearly.
Pa was enraptured at the mere sight of Lily’s little curled nostrils and her earnest look:
“What a professor she would make!” he thought. “If ever she takes the belt, she’ll be simply grand. I can just fold my arms!”
But he made her dress very quickly. That exhibition of dainty underwear, which flattered his pride as a father, would have driven girls used to sewing their own calico shifts quite crazy: there would have been no holding them; and, besides, artistes might come in at any moment. It would not do for Lily to be seen half-dressed like that; and she realized this herself, like a sensible little lady, who hates scandal.
“Stay with us, Lily,” said her Pa, at home, after dinner, when the apprentices had gone out. “Stay with us.”