The Dancers

Ladies' Mirror, Volume 4, Issue 9, 1 March 1926, Page 29

The Dancers

'"THERE is something very abhorrent about this new French tango, I think. If other people want to dance this new French tango and don’t mind looking silly and foreign, that is their own business. I won’t dance it, though. I simply abhore it. That is why I deliberately lit a cigarette when the band started to pay one. After all, my cousin Joan and I were in a nice secluded little nook. I didn’t see why I should spoil the whole evening by attempting the impossible. “Well?” said Joan, and held out a little hand for me to assist her from her armchair. I took her hand with pleasure, but I didn’t assist her from her armchair. I didn’t see why I should. She looked very jolly where she was. “Come on,” she said. “Aren’t we going to dance this?” I shook my head emphatically. “It’s a tango, Joan,” I said frankly. “We couldn’t possibly manage it. We should fall down and disgrace ourselves. We ” “I shouldn’t fall down,” she said coolly, and took back her hand. Still, it was her loss, not mine. If she had left it with me a little longer I might have told her fortune. I am very good as palmistry. “I can’t understand why girls encourage these new crazes,” I said, and crossed my legs in a leisurely way. “Personally I wouldn’t dream of dancing a tango.” “Why not?” demanded Joan. “Because,” I said airily, “it’s a French dance and exceedingly flighty. We stately men never indulge in such things. It lowers our dignity.” “Well, of course, if you will fall down,” she remarked. “I suppose the real truth is, you haven’t learnt it?” “As a matter of fact, Joan,” I said proudly, “it is. I don’t know it from Adam. Wouldn’t you like an ice or something ?” She ignored the offer. “I’ll teach it to you, if you like,” she said, and started to swing one slim ankle in time to the music. I shook my head rather wistfully. “My people are so particular,” I murmured. “I don’t think I’d better let you. You know how these things get about. Have a cigarette instead.” “Oh. very well,” she said, and held out her little hand. I took it again with pleasure. I didn’t have it very long, though, because almost immediately a big, determined fellow

came up and claimed her. I let him have her without protest. He was a very big, determined fellow. I T WAS just going to creep into -*• another little nook where drinks were being served when my hostess pounced upon me. “Really you men are too bad she exclaimed. “Why do so few of you dance the tango?”. Naturally, a guest has to be very careful with his hostess, because if he says anything she doesn’t like she may not invite him again. It wouldn t do for a guest not to be invited again. I sighed pathetically. “I’m afraid so few girls know the steps,” I replied guardedly. “Oh, in that case,” she said, “you must meet Joyce Vincent. She’s quite an expert.” Then before I could think of a suitable reply she had introduced me to a perfectly lovely girl in jade. “How ripping to meet a man who really loves the tango!” said Miss Vincent. “I think it’s a wonderful dance.” “So do I,” I said, and fetched her Joan’s late armchair. She sat down in it very gracefully. Just to make it equal I sat down gracefully, too. It was rather a difficult moment. I tried to think of something jolly to say. “Would you like an ice, Miss Vincent?” I suggested brightly. “I’d love one.” she answered. She was really a very clever, sweet girl. It was quite a pleasure to do something for her. I strolled away and fetched her a delicious great ice. She ate it most gratefully. She had hardly finished it, though, before she said; “Hush” I hushed obediently. It was very ghastly. The ridiculous band had forgotten itself again. It was playing another tango. “Shall we?” she said, and held out her little hand. I took it with pleasure. Then I shook my head. “II don’t know the steps,” I admitted honestly. “Oh, but surely,” she protested, “you said you loved the tango.” “So I do,” I said. “I think it is the most wonderful dance to sit out that there is. D-don’t you?” “I don't quite knowyet,” smiled Miss Vincent.

I was quite right, though. It was. In these matters men always know best, I think. London Opinion.