Doubt me then watch me script lettering

You will want the truth of Saturday, so here it is, and you can tell Mother I ate my supper. Mr Ashworth stood by the bandstand at the Palais with his clipboard and his lemon drops, and when Stan and I came off the floor after the quickstep he said, not even looking up, that a girl from the mill had no business in a ladies' championship. Stan went red to the ears. I did not. I just took the handkerchief from my sleeve, folded it twice, and told him to doubt me if he liked.

Then we danced the foxtrot through twice, and I counted every step under my breath so Stan would stop fretting about the turn. The band played that old Ambrose number, the one with the slide trombone that always sounds a half-beat behind. We were not behind. When the last chord went, the whole floor clapped the way people do when they have been made to eat their words, and Ashworth stood there holding his clipboard as if it had bitten him.

Win, I am not telling you this to crow. I am telling you because I finally understood what Father meant on the back step that winter, that a thing said loudly is still only a thing said. Let the doubters talk. Let them write it on their clipboards. The floor does the rest.

Ashworth has a daughter who wants lessons, so he has sent a note asking for Thursdays. I have said yes, and I have charged him double.

Your loving sister, Nell