“I’ll bring Campanula—or one of the Mousmés, at a pinch.”
“Campanula chaperoning me!” said Jane with a laugh. “Well, I don’t care. It’s only for the sake of Mrs. Grundy.”
“There is no Japanese Mrs. Grundy.”
“No, but there is an English one.”
They parted, and Jane entered the hotel.
She went to her bedroom, got her writing-case out of a portmanteau, and began to write. She was writing a letter to George.
The first began:
“Your abominable conduct has been discovered. You have heaped shame on me, you have heaped shame on yourself—”
When she got as far as this she found that it was too melodramatic, somehow, and the “heaped shames” did not ring true, so she tore it up and began again:
“My cousin, Richard Leslie, sent for me this morning in great distress. How you could have acted as you did towards that sweet child surpasses me. Fortunately for yourself you have run away—”