She dances like a girl of sixteen." "Most girls of sixteen," said George, "are bum dancers.

Anyhow, I wouldn't dance with one unless I had to." "Well, you'd better dance with your mother! I never saw anybody lovelier.

How wonderfully they dance together!" "Who ?" "Your mother and--and the queer-looking duck," said Lucy.

"I'm going to dance with him pretty soon." "I don't care--so long as you don't give him one of the numbers that belong to me." "I'll try to remember," she said, and thoughtfully lifted to her face the bouquet of violets and lilies, a gesture which George noted without approval.
"Look here! Who sent you those flowers you keep makin' such a fuss over ?" "He did." "Who's 'he' ?" "The queer-looking duck." George feared no such rival; he laughed loudly.

"I s'pose he's some old widower!" he said, the object thus described seeming ignominious enough to a person of eighteen, without additional characterization.