“But we want you to dance.”
Peter was really the best dancer among them, but he pretended to be scandalised.
“Me! My old bones would rattle!”
“And mummy too.”
“What,” cried Wendy, “the mother of such an armful, dance!”
“But on a Saturday night,” Slightly insinuated.
It was not really Saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was Saturday night, and then they did it.
“Of course it is Saturday night, Peter,” Wendy said, relenting.
“People of our figure, Wendy!”
“But it is only among our own progeny.”