CHAPTER V. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. I just don’t know where to start. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. That, I think, is manifest. I almost wish we hadn't come. "O lud! what an exquisite box!" cried Edgeworth Bess. Two-and-twenty! I can’t imagine what your parents can be thinking about to let you get into these scrapes. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls.
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