“But the door was never opened,” said Miss Harris, bending to look into
my face with an almost tender reproach. I felt I was visibly shrinking,
and that the upward gaze I fastened on her was one of pleading. Unless
she let go my hand and ceased to be so oppressively gracious I would
diminish to a heap upon the floor.
“Never mind,” she went on, “now I know you I’ll not stand outside any
more.”
I jerked my hand away and made a flank movement for the stairs. Five
minutes more and she would be coming up and taking supper with me. She
did not appear to notice my desire for flight, but continued talking to
me as I ascended.
“We’re the only two women in the upper part of this house. Do I
chaperon you, or do you chaperon me?”