I hate dancing; don't know how.

Let go my jacket, and don't bother, or I 'll cut away altogether," growled Tom, daunted by the awful prospect of opening the ball with Polly.
"I 'll never forgive you if you do.

Come, be clever, and help me, there 's a dear.

You know we both were dreadfully rude to Polly, and agreed that we 'd be as kind and civil to her as ever we could.

I shall keep my word, and see that she is n't slighted at my party, for I want her to love me, and go home feeling all right." This artful speech made an impression on the rebellious Thomas, who glanced at Polly's happy face, remembered his promise, and, with a groan, resolved to do his duty.
"Well, I 'll take her; but I shall come to grief, for I don't know anything about your old dances." "Yes, you do.