“Well,” said Sissie.  “They’ll dance anyhow, and so they may as well learn to dance properly.  And what else can I do?  Have you had me taught to do anything else?  You and mother have brought me up to be perfectly useless except as the wife of a rich man.  That’s what you’ve done, and you can’t deny it.”

“Once,” said Mr. Prohack.  “You very nobly drove a van.”

“Yes, I did.  But no thanks to you and mother.  Why, I had even to learn to drive in secret, lest you should stop me!  And I can tell you one thing—­if I was to start driving a van now I should probably get mobbed in the streets.  All the men have a horrid grudge against us girls who did their work in the war.  If we want to get a job in these days we jolly well have to conceal the fact that we were in the W.A.A.C. or in anything at all during the war.  They won’t look at us if they find out that.  Our reward!  However, I don’t want to drive a van.  I want to teach dancing.  It’s not so dirty and it pays better.  And if people feel like dancing, why shouldn’t they dance?  Come now, dad, be reasonable.”

“That’s asking a lot from any human being, and especially from a parent.”

“Well, have you got any argument against what I say?”

“I prefer not to argue.”

“That’s because you can’t.”

“It is.  It is.  But what is this wonderful chance you’ve got?”

“It’s that studio where Charlie and I went last night, at Putney.”

“At Putney?”

“Well, why not Putney?  They have a gala night every other week, you know.  It belongs to Viola Ridle.  Viola’s going to get married and live in Edinburgh, and she’s selling it.  And Eliza asked me if I’d join her in taking it over.  Eliza telephoned me about it to-night, and so I rushed across the Park to see her.  But Viola’s asking a hundred pounds premium and a hundred for the fittings, and very cheap it is too.  In fact Viola’s a fool, I think, but then she’s fond of Eliza.”

“Now, Eliza?  Is that Eliza Brating, or am I getting mixed up?”

“Yes, it’s Eliza Brating.”

“Ah!”

“You needn’t be so stuffy, dad, because her father’s only a second-division clerk at the Treasury.”

“Oh, I’m not.  It was only this morning that I was saying to Mr. Hunter that we must always remember that second-division clerks are also God’s creatures.”

“Father, you’re disgusting.”

“Don’t say that, my child.  At my age one needs encouragement, not abuse.  And I’m glad to be able to tell you that there is no longer any necessity either for you to earn money or to pinch and scrape.  Satisfactory arrangements have been made....”

“Really?  Well, that’s splendid.  But of course it won’t make any difference to me.  There may be no necessity so far as you’re concerned.  But there’s my inward necessity.  I’ve got to be independent.  It wouldn’t make any difference if you had an income of ten thousand a year.”