A FEW DIVERSIONS
VII
A FEW DIVERSIONS
"I wish you would ask her up, Nan," said Mrs. Harte, confidentially. "I want her to see the place. So far as I can judge, it's the best thing for her. There isn't any doubt that she's a very bright girl, but she's getting thoroughly spoiled here. You see, she does just as she pleases—she's the only young person in the family—and I know we spoil her terribly. Her mind is made up to come out in the winter, here in Chicago, and they'll refuse her nothing—her father and mother."
"They don't seem what you'd call oppressively strict with her," remarked Anne, twirling her racquet.
"Now what I want is for her to get somewhere where she isn't the only clever girl; to see that other girls can read and talk and play the guitar and wear nice clothes and order silly young men about. And judging from those of you that I've seen, you can!"
"We do our little best," said Anne, modestly.
"And I wanted her to see you all: that's one reason why I planned the house-party. I was so disappointed when she came so late. You see, her cousin Georgiana was—was unfortunate. She went to Yale and Columbia and goodness knows where, and she had short hair and was such a frump and she wore such hideous spectacles and talked about Socialism—or was it Sociology?—all the time. I remember she was always trying to persuade us to join clubs and protest against something or other—it was very wearisome. So Madge got to despise the whole thing: she has always thrown Georgiana at me when I mentioned college. It was perfectly useless to try to make her understand that every girl needn't be like Georgiana. She's very obstinate. But she's a nice girl, too, and if she can only get out of her present atmosphere for four years—"
"Pity she couldn't have seen Ursula, if she's afraid we're all frumps," Anne suggested.