You shall be rewarded for your constancy at last, dear knight-errant.

As to my chaperon, I'm not afraid of her boring me; she bores herself, poor lady; one can see that, just to look at her; but she will be much less bored if she has us two to travel with.

What she needs is constant companionship, bright talk, excitement.
She has come away from London, where she swims with the crowd; she has no resources of her own, no work, no head, no interests.

Accustomed to a whirl of foolish gaieties, she wearies her small brain; thrown back upon herself, she bores herself at once, because she has nothing interesting to tell herself.

She absolutely requires somebody else to interest her.
She can't even amuse herself with a book for three minutes together.
See, she has a yellow-backed French novel now, and she is only able to read five lines at a time; then she gets tired and glances about her listlessly.