1
THE new town band played every Thursday afternoon in the new
skating-rink in the High Street. The band was not really new and neither
was the skating-rink, both having come into existence about twelve
months after Milly Ogden's death, which made them almost nineteen years
old. But by those who remembered the days when these and similar
innovations had not existed, they were always spoken of as "New."
The old residents of Seabourne, those that were left of them, mourned
openly the time when the town had been really select. They looked
askance at the dancing couples who gyrated round the rink with strange
clingings and undulatings. But in spite of being shocked, as they
genuinely were, they occasionally showed their disapproving faces at the
rink on Thursday afternoons; it was a warm place to sit in and have tea
during the winter and early spring months, and in addition to this they
derived a sense of superiority from criticizing the unseemly behaviour
of the new generation.
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Ogden, as a couple more blatant than usual
performed a sort of Nautch dance under her nose, "all I can say is, I'm
glad I'm old!"
Joan smiled. "Yes, we're not so young as we were," she said.
Her mother protested irritably. "I do _wish_ you would stop talking as
though you were a hundred, Joan, it's so ridiculous; I sometimes think
you do it to aggravate me, you don't look a day over thirty."
"Well, never mind, darling, look at that girl over there, she's dancing
rather prettily."
"I'm glad you think so; personally, I can't see anything pretty about
it. Of course, if you like to tell everyone your age I suppose you must;
only the other day I heard you expatiating on the subject to Major
Boyle. But, considering you know I particularly dislike it, I think you
might stop."