“My dear Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “we are discussing a perfectly abstract question; you appear to be able to deal only with a concrete case.”
“Then,” she retorted, “the sunset has done you less good than I thought. An abstract case on an evening like this!”
And her eyes appeared to fill with pity for Millicent. That lady looked up, but said nothing.
“It is on such evenings, Mrs. Loring,” I returned, “that nothing but the presence of the chaperone divides the abstract from the concrete.”
“Then you do mean——” she said almost impetuously.
“Does it occur to you, Mrs. Loring,” I replied, “that you are speaking with remarkable freedom?”
Mrs. Loring was in a difficult position. To stay was to nullify the opportunity, and to postpone indefinitely (so she thought) the consummation of her disinterested endeavours. To leave, on the other hand, was a hint so pointed that even she felt it might give rise to an embarrassment that would defeat its own ends. I pointed this out to her—of course, in an entirely abstract way; and Millicent, I was pleased to see, regarded the comedy with an amused coolness that had in it very little sympathy for Mrs. Loring Chatterton and her methods. She looked up laughing.
“It would be rather a difficult position for any chaperone to be placed in,” she said mischievously. “Wouldn’t it, Mollie?”
Mollie was rather at a loss.
“A chaperone’s is a difficult position altogether, Millie,” she said, “and it means considerable self-sacrifice on the part of the one who undertakes it.”