He saw Gregory at once, short and sturdy-legged, in a belted jacket and
white breeches; his son was standing peaceably, attentive, clasping the
hand of a girl smaller than himself with obstinate bobbed hair. This,
the high pointed voice in the center of the floor continued, was an
Irish folk dance; they would try it again; and the reiterated details
were followed by the sounding of a whistle and music. Lee had no idea
of the exact number of children engaged, but he was certain that there
were just as many totally different executions of the steps before
them. Not one had grasped an essential of the carefully illustrated
instruction; he could see nowhere an evidence of grace or rhythm. But,
with a few notable exceptions, all boys, there was an entire solemnity
of effort; the swinging of bare short legs, the rapid awkward bobs,
were undertaken with a deep sense of their importance.
The Irish folk dance was attempted for a third time, and then
relinquished in favor of a waltz. Miniature couples circled and
staggered, the girls again prim, the boys stolid or with working
mouths, or as smooth and vacuous as chestnuts, little sailors and
apparitions in white, obviously enjoying their employment. During this
not a word was exchanged; except for the shuffling feet, the piano, an
occasional phrase of encouragement from the instructor, himself gliding
with a dab of fat in exaggerated ribbons, there wasn't a sound.
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