ELIZABETH. _BOOK V_ CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 1 THE new town band played every Thursday afternoon in the new skating-rink in the High Street. The band was not really new and neither was the skating-rink, both having come into existence about twelve months after Milly Ogden's death, which made them almost nineteen years old. But by those who remembered the days when these and similar innovations had not existed, they were always spoken of as "New." The old residents of Seabourne, those that were left of them, mourned openly the time when the town had been really select. They looked askance at the dancing couples who gyrated round the rink with strange clingings and undulatings. But in spite of being shocked, as they genuinely were, they occasionally showed their disapproving faces at the rink on Thursday afternoons; it was a warm place to sit in and have tea during the winter and early spring months, and in addition to this they derived a sense of superiority from criticizing the unseemly behaviour of the new generation. "Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Ogden, as a couple more blatant than usual performed a sort of Nautch dance under her nose, "all I can say is, I'm glad I'm old!" Joan smiled. "Yes, we're not so young as we were," she said. Her mother protested irritably. "I do _wish_ you would stop talking as though you were a hundred, Joan, it's so ridiculous; I sometimes think you do it to aggravate me, you don't look a day over thirty." "Well, never mind, darling, look at that girl over there, she's dancing rather prettily." "I'm glad you think so; personally, I can't see anything pretty about it. Of course, if you like to tell everyone your age I suppose you must; only the other day I heard you expatiating on the subject to Major Boyle. But, considering you know I particularly dislike it, I think you might stop." Joan sighed. "Here comes the tea, Mother." "Yes, I see it. Oh, don't put the milk in first, darling! Well, never mind, as you've done it. Major Boyle doesn't go about telling His age, vain old man, but he's sure not to miss an opportunity now of telling everyone yours." "Have you got your Saxin, Mother?" "Yes, here it is, in my bag; no, it's not. Oh dear, I do hope I haven't lost my silver box, just see if you can find it." Joan took the bag and thrust in her hand. "Here it is," she said. "Good gracious!" sighed Mrs. Ogden, "I'm growing as blind as a bat; it's an awful thing to lose your eyesight. No, but seriously, darling, do stop telling people your age." "I will if you mind so much, Mother. But everyone we know doesn't need to be told, if they think it out, and the new people aren't interested in us or our ages, so what can it matter?" "It matters very much to me, as I've told you." "All right, then, I'll try and remember. How old do you want me to be?"