"You're a most unusual man then. What else can we think of, Judy?"
"There's always dancing," said Judy.
"Dancing! Of course! He must learn to dance. You can't dance and think about religions. I defy you to do it."
"But I couldn't dance. I'm too old and stiff. Besides, no one would dance with me."
"Three excuses, and none of them any good."
"I'll teach you," Judy said. "I might even dance with you."
"Would you really? That's awfully kind. But I ought to tell you that I really don't think I'm teachable."
"You must let me judge of that. We might begin at Eaton Square one night, in a small way. Gordon and Noel and I often ask a few friends in for dancing, and there's a little anteroom reserved for practicing. There will only be a few, and it won't be at all alarming even for hermits."
Chip looked pleased and dubious at the same time.
"There won't be any flappers, will there? I'm terrified of flappers."
"Nothing more flapperish than myself," laughed Judy. "Was I ever a flapper, Madame Claire?"
