The idea of a child of that age informing me that she's had enough of the purely social phases of this planet! Did you ever hear anything like it?
One season, if you please--and she finds it futile, stale, and unprofitable to fulfil the duties expected of her!" Boots began to laugh, but it was no laughing matter to Nina, and she said so vigorously.
"It's Philip's fault.

If he'd stand by us this winter she'd go anywhere--and enjoy it, too.

Besides, he's the only man able to satisfy the blue-stocking in her between dances.

But he's got this obstinate mania for seclusion, and he seldom comes near us, and it's driving Eileen into herself, Boots--and every day I catch her hair slumping over her ears--and once I discovered a lead-pencil behind 'em!--and a monograph on the Ming dynasty in her lap, all marked up with notes! Oh, Boots! Boots! I've given up all hopes of that brother of mine for her--but she could marry anybody, if she chose--_anybody_!--and she could twist the entire social circus into a court of her own and dominate everything.

Everybody knows it; everybody says it!.