* * * * *
=THE LIGHT FANTASTIC.=
"Dancers are born, not made," said John.
"_Some_ are born dancers," corrected Cecilia, "others achieve
dancing."
"Well, I'm not going to have it thrust on me any way," retorted John.
"I never have liked dancing and I never shall. I haven't danced for
years and years and I don't intend to. I don't know any of these
new-fangled dances and I don't want to."
"Don't be so obstinate," said Cecilia. "What you want doesn't matter.
You've got to learn, so you may as well give way decently. Come along
now, I'll play for you, and Margery will show you the steps."
"If Margery attempts to show me the steps I shall show her the door.
I won't be bullied in my own house. Why don't you make your brother
dance, if somebody must?" said John, waving his arm at me.
"Come on, Alan," said Margery; "we can't waste our time on him. Come
and show him how it's done."
"My dear little sister," I said sweetly, "I should simply love it, but
the fact is--I can't."
"Can't," echoed Margery. "Why not?"
"I hate to mention these things," I explained, "but the fact is I
took part in a war that has been on recently, and I have a bad hip,
honourable legacy of same."
"Oh, Alan," said Margery, "how can you? Your hip's absolutely fit, you
know it is. You haven't mentioned it for months."
"My dear Margery," I said, drawing myself up, "I hope your brother
knows how to suffer in silence. But if you suppose that because I
don't complain--Great heavens, child, sometimes in the long silent
watches of the night--"
"Well, how about, tennis, then?" said Margery. "You've been playing
all this summer, you know you have."
"All what summer?" I asked.
"That's a good one," said John; "I bet she can't answer that."
"Don't quibble," said Margery.
"Don't squabble," said Cecilia.
"Yes, stop squibbling," said John.
"I'm not quabbling," said I.
John and I leaned against each other and laughed helplessly.
"When you have finished," said Cecilia with a cold eye, "perhaps you
will decide which of you is going to have the first lesson."
"Good heavens," said John tragically, "haven't they forgotten the
dancing yet?"
"We may as well give way, John," I said; "we shall get no peace until
we do."
"I suppose not," said John dismally "Very well, then, you're her
brother you shall have first go."
He waved me politely to Margery.
"Not at all," I said quickly "Brothers-in-law first in our
family--always."
"Could we both come together?" asked John.
"No, you can't," said Margery.
"Then we must toss for it," said John, producing a coin.
"Tails," I called.
"Tails it is," said John, walking across the room to Margery.
And the lesson commenced.
* * * * *
"_Chassée_ to the right, _chassée_ to the left, two steps forward, two
steps backward, twinkle each way--"
"Five shillings on Twinkle, please," I interrupted.
Margery stopped and looked at me.
"You keep quiet, Alan," shouted Cecilia, cheerfully banging the piano.
"I shall never learn," said John miserably from the middle of the
room, "not in a thousand years."
"Yes, you will," encouraged Margery. "Just listen. _Chassée_ to the
right, _chassée_ to the left, two steps forward, two steps back,
twinkle each way--"
"Take away the number you first thought of," I suggested, "and the
answer's the Louisiana Glide."
"To finish up," said Margery, "we grasp each other firmly, prance
round, two bars...."
"That sounds a bit better," said John.
" ... then waltz four bars," continued Margery, "and that's all. Come
on, now."
They came on....
"Good," said Margery as they finished up; "he's doing it splendidly,
Cecilia."
John beamed complacently.
"I got through that last bit rather well," he said; "'pon my word,
there's more in this dancing than I thought. I quite enjoyed that
twinkling business."
"Have another one," I suggested.
"Don't mind if I do," said John. "May I have the pleasure?" with a
courtly bow to Margery.
They re-commenced.
"That's right," said Margery; "now two forward."
"I must have a natural genius for dancing," said John, conversing
easily; "I seem to ... Do we twinkle next?"
"Yes," said Margery.
"I seem to fall into it naturally."
"Look out!" shrieked Margery.
I don't know exactly what happened; I rather think John got his gears
mixed up in the twinkling business. At any rate, one of his feet shot
up in the air, he made a wild grab at nothing and tripped heavily
backwards into the hearth. The piano was drowned in general uproar.
John arose with difficulty from the ashes and addressed himself
haughtily to Cecilia.
"I can understand that these two," he said, waving a black but
contemptuous hand at Margery and myself, "should scream with delight.
Their whole conception of humour is bound up with banana-skins and
orange-peel. But may I ask why _you_ should have hysterics because
your husband has fallen into the fireplace?"
"'You seemed to fall into it so naturally,'" I quoted in a shaky
voice.
"Darling," sobbed Cecilia, "I am trying--please--if only you would
take that piece of soot off your nose--" She dabbed her eyes and wept
helplessly.
John rubbed his nose quickly and walked to the door.
"If you want my opinion of dancing," he said bitterly, "I think it's a
low pagan habit."
"'Twinkle, twinkle, little star,'" sang Margery.
"Bah!" said John, and banged the door.
* * * * *