But although two lone women may set
up housekeeping in a New York flat, they cannot very well go alone to
a fashionable hotel."
"Oh, yes, we can. Best of references given and required."
"I was going to suggest," pursued Dorothy, not noticing the
interruption, "that we invite your father and mother to accompany us.
They might enjoy a change from sea air to mountain air."
Katherine frowned a little, and demurred.
"Are you going to be fearfully conventional, Dorothy?"
"We must pay some attention to the conventions, don't you think?"
"I had hoped not. I yearn to be a bachelor girl, and own a latch-key."
"We shall each possess a latch-key when we settle down in New York.
Our flat will be our castle, and, although our latch-key will let us
in, our Yale lock will keep other people out. A noted summer resort
calls for different treatment, because there we lead a semi-public
life. Besides, I am selfish enough to wish my coming-out to be under
the auspices of so well-known a man as Captain Kempt."
"All right, I'll see what they say about it. You don't want Sabina, I
take it?"
"Yes, if she will consent to come."
"I doubt if she will, but I'll see. Besides, now that I come to think
about it, it's only fair I should allow my doting parents to know that
I am about to desert them."
With that Katherine quitted the room, and went down the stairs
hippety-hop.
Dorothy drew the letter from its place of concealment, and read it for
the third time, although one not interested might have termed it a
most commonplace document.
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