e heart of the
body politic," someway, it always makes a girl think of a chaperone. She
goes, ostensibly, to lend a decorous air to whatever proceedings may be
in view. She is to keep the man from making love to the girl. Whispers
and tender hand clasps are occasionally possible, however, for, tell it
not in Gath! the chaperone was once young herself and at times looks the
other way.

That is, unless she is the girl's mother. Trust a parent for keeping two
eyes and a pair of glasses on a girl! Trust the non-matchmaking mother
for four new eyes under her back hair and a double row of ears arranged
laterally along her anxious spine! And yet, if the estimable lady had
not been married herself, it is altogether likely that the girl would
never have thought of it.

[Sidenote: The Chaperone]

The reason usually given for chaperonage is that it gives the girl a
chance to become acquainted with the man. Of course, in the presence of
a chaperone, a man says and does exactly the same things he would if he
were alone with the maiden of his choice. He does not mind making love
to a girl in her mother's presence. He does not even care to be alone
with her when he proposes to her. He would like to have some chaperone
read his letters--he always writes with this intention. At any time
during the latter part of the month it fills him with delight to see the
chaperone order a lobster after they have all had oysters.

Nonsense! Why do not the leaders of society say, frankly: "This
chaperone business is just a little game. Our husbands are either at
the club or soundly asleep at home. It is not nice to go around alone,
and it is pathetic to go in pairs, with no man. We will go with our
daughters and their young friends, for they have cavaliers enough and to
spare. Let us get out and see the world, lest we die of ennui and
neglect!" It is the chaperone who really goes with the young man. She
takes the girl along to escape gossip.

[Sidenote: Behold his House!]

It is strange, when it is woman's avowed object to make man happy, that
she insists upon doing it in her own way, rather than in his. He likes
the rich, warm colours; the deep reds and dark greens. Behold his house!

Renaissance curtains obscure the landscape with delicate tracery, and he
realises what it might mean to wear a veil. Soft tones of rose and Nile
green appear in his drawing-room. Chippendale chairs, upon which he
fears to sit, invite the jaded soul to whatever r