“Is he?” asked Gita indifferently. “What has that to do with it? I remember I told you once I’d no objection to talking to intelligent men as long as they behaved themselves.” “Oh, he’s a sly old fox, but I’ll wager this is the first time he’s had to hold in and lay siege. Siege is generally on the other side.” “Don’t talk rot. He thinks I need educating, and I certainly do. He might be a forty-per-cent as far as I’m concerned.” Polly looked at her sharply, then laughed. “Poor Eustace! However, life, to say nothing of our own sweet sex, has treated him well. It would take a good deal to discourage him——” “Don’t be a crashing bore. You look lovely. Why don’t blondes always wear pale yellow?” “Like it?” Polly spun on her heel. She wore a woven silk sport suit and untrimmed felt hat of yellow the shade of her hair and looked not unlike a canary. “You’d be wonderful in yellow yourself and I long for the time when you’ll go into colors. I’ve thought out two gowns for you.” Gita’s eyes sparkled and her faint annoyance passed, with all memory of Eustace Bylant. “I feel symptoms of taking a frantic interest in dress and wish I were rich.” “Oh, you’ve enough. Lots of the girls have to manage. They’ve got hold of a little dressmaker lately who was with Langdorf and Dana for years and has set up for herself. She’ll dress you for hundreds where the old robbers would charge you thousands. And as Mr. Donald is dying to get rid of you he’ll not lecture you on extravagance—and that brings me to the object of this morning call. Mother is frightfully upset.” “Is she? What’s the matter with her?” Gita was sitting on a low crinoline chair looking up at Polly, who had begun to walk restlessly about the room. “Have to come out with it, I suppose, as I offered to take on the job. She hates scenes, and as for poor old Donald——” “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.”