her first ball
Storyboard Text
- Come along, little lady.
- This old man again?
- Your first dance, isn't it?
- How did you know?
- Ah, that's what it is to be old! You see, I've been doing this kind of thing for the last thirty years.
- Thirty years?
- It hardly bears thinking about, does it?
- I think it's marvellous to be still going on.
- Kind little lady. Ofcourse, you can't hope to last anything like as long as that. No-o! Long before that you'll be sitting up there on the stage, looking on, in your nice black velvet. And these pretty arms will have turned into little short fat ones, and you'll beat time with such a different kind of fan - a black ebony one. And you'll smile away like the poor old dears up there, and point to your daughter, and tell the elderly lady next to you how some dreadful man tried to kiss her at the club ball. And your heart will ache, ache - because no one wants to kiss you now. And you'll say how unpleasant these polished floors are to walk on, how dangerous they are. Eh, Mademoiselle Twinkletoes?
- Could everything he's saying be true? Is my first ball going to end up being my last?
- I say, you know, you mustn't take me seriously, little lady.
- Tonight can't get any worse than this...
- I'd like to stop. I won't go outside. I won't sit down. I'll just stand here, thank you.
- As if I should!
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