'Oo, I say, let's 'ave some dancin',' she said as soon as she saw it.
'Come on, Sally,' she added, to one of the girls, 'you an' me'll dance
togither. Grind away, old cock!'

The man turned on a new tune, and the organ began to play the
Intermezzo from the 'Cavalleria'; other couples quickly followed
Liza's example, and they began to waltz round with the same solemnity
as before; but Liza outdid them all; if the others were as stately as
queens, she was as stately as an empress; the gravity and dignity with
which she waltzed were something appalling, you felt that the minuet
was a frolic in comparison; it would have been a fitting measure to
tread round the grave of a _première danseuse_, or at the funeral of a
professional humorist. And the graces she put on, the languor of the
eyes, the contemptuous curl of the lips, the exquisite turn of the
hand, the dainty arching of the foot! You felt there could be no
questioning her right to the tyranny of Vere Street.

Suddenly she stopped short, and disengaged herself from her companion.

'Oh, I sy,' she said, 'this is too bloomin' slow; it gives me the
sick.'

That is not precisely what she said, but it is impossible always to
give the exact unexpurgated words of Liza and the other personages of
the story, the reader is therefore entreated with his thoughts to
piece out the necessary imperfections of the dialogue.

'It's too bloomin' slow,' she said again; 'it gives me the sick. Let's
'ave somethin' a bit more lively than this 'ere waltz. You stand over
there, Sally, an' we'll show 'em 'ow ter skirt dance.'