“Scenes? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Well—she and Mr. Donald had a long pow-wow yesterday, and the upshot was they decided you must have a chaperon-companion—and at once.”
“Chaperon? I?” Gita sprang to her feet. “Are you raving?”
“Oh, come now, Gita, you’ve seen a good deal of the world, first and last. You know perfectly well that girls of our sort don’t live alone. Neither mother nor Mr. Donald thought it worth bothering about before, because you were in mourning, and because—well, because you were you. They never for a moment imagined you’d be receiving young men alone.”
“I’ll not let him come here again. I shouldn’t care if I never saw him again.”
“Poor Eustace! But the harm’s done, my dear. All Chelsea is buzzing——”
“Your crowd, you mean! They’re nice ones to talk. I thought they’d forgotten the meaning of the word chaperon.”
“Ah, but we’d never live alone, my dear. To be really free you must observe certain conventions just as you must wear the proper clothes. Keep your background intact and you may kick your slipper over the moon. Think of all the rascality men get away with so long as they keep within the law. Same idea. We’ll have to find a respectable companion for you——”
“No, you will not! I love living alone and doing just as I please. And no companion would stay with me a week, I’ll tell you.”
“Oh, she’d have a sweet time of it, no doubt of that. But, Gita, remember you’re coming out next winter——”