“Yes; I have registered,” was the frigid return. Mrs. Gaylord tried not to show approval of the dainty Dresden apartment she was in. She had caught only a fleecing glimpse of Doris. The latter had promptly retreated to the bed-room she was to occupy of the expensive Dresden suite of small salon, two sleeping rooms and bath which Leslie had extravagantly engaged. “I engaged a room with bath on this floor, but—” She glanced about the smart salon.
“No room here,” supplied Leslie. “Oh, you are welcome, of course, to inhabit the salon with Goldie and me,” she added flippantly.
“Thank you. You know, Leslie, that I have tried not to stand in your way.” Mrs. Gaylord spoke with reproving bitterness. “I am here now, not because I wish to be, but because—” The chaperon made an impressive pause.
“Now we are getting down to brass tacks.” Leslie simulated genial encouragement.
Mrs. Gaylord frowned, but resisted bandying further words. “Your father ordered me to come to New York, Leslie,” she said with a direct simplicity which had more effect on her discourteous charge than had her air of affront.
“What?” Leslie almost screamed the question.
From the adjoining bed-room Doris heard the cry and wondered. She knew that Leslie had a chaperon, named Mrs. Gaylord, who amiably permitted Leslie to do as she pleased. While she had retired to her bed-room and closed the door, on the arrival of the chaperon, she had caught enough of the salutatory remarks between Leslie and the other woman to establish Mrs. Gaylord’s identity in her own mind. The fact that the caller had come at so late an hour further convinced her.
“Just what I say,” stiffly confirmed the chaperon. “I received this letter from him. You might as well see it.” She had opened her small seal traveling bag as she spoke. Now she handed Leslie the letter from Peter Cairns.
“Uh-h-h-h!” Leslie dropped down on a gilt-framed, pale-hued Dresden settee with a pretense of total collapse. Next second she sat up with a jerk. “Gaylord, I beg your pardon for ragging you. You seem to be a good sport,” was her half-humorous apology.
Mrs. Gaylord with difficulty maintained a grave face. Strangely enough, at heart she did not dislike Leslie. Constant companionship with the financier’s long-neglected daughter from the standpoint of a duenna had shown her plainly all Leslie’s faults and virtues. When first she had come to Leslie she had resentfully labeled her as having all faults and no virtues. Presently she discovered that Leslie was generous, not of spirit, but in a material way. She also had a virtue of minding her own affairs beyond that of any other girl or woman of Mrs. Gaylord’s acquaintance. Of Leslie’s intriguing, unscrupulous side the chaperon knew little. She admired the girl’s peculiar originality and thought her sayings distinctively clever or funny. She respected Leslie for being neither foolishly sentimental nor flirtatious. Leslie’s rudenesses she soon learned to overlook because Leslie was as civil to her as to anyone else, perhaps more civil.