"I have written him about your début," said Kathleen soothingly.

"Oh! What did the old beast say?"

"He writes," began Kathleen pleasantly, "that he considers eighteen an
unsuitable age for a young girl to make her bow to New York society."

"Did he say that?" exclaimed Geraldine, furious. "Very well; I shall
write to Colonel Mallett and tell him I simply will not endure it any
longer. I've had enough education; I'm suffocated with it! Besides, I
dislike it. I want a dinner-gown and a ball-gown and my hair waved and
dressed on top of my head instead of bunched half way! I want to have an
engagement pad--I want to have places to go to--people expecting me; I
want silk stockings and pretty underclothes! Doesn't that old fool
understand what a girl wants and needs?"

She half rose from her seat at the table, pushing away the fruit which a
servant offered; and, laying her hands flat on the cloth, leaned
forward, eyes flashing ominously.

"I'm getting tired of this," she said. "If it goes on, I'll probably run
away."

"So will I," said Scott, "but I've good reasons. They haven't done
anything to you. You're making a terrible row about nothing."

"Yes, they have! They've suppressed me, stifled me, bottled me up,
tinkered at me, overgroomed me, dressed me ridiculously, and stuffed my
mind. And I'm starved all the time! O Kathleen, I'm hungry! hungry!
Can't you understand?