Part 15

While Mame was wrestling with these unhappy thoughts Lady Violet came into the room. She hardly ventured to look at the face of her friend. Somehow she was afraid to read her doom, which in her present mood was going to be more than she could bear.

Lady Violet gazed upon the rather woe-begone little figure seated before a piece of mechanism which she herself profoundly disliked. “Hard at it!” The tone was cheery, but it was non-committal. It was impossible for Mame to tell what her feelings were or what the decision was to which she had come.

Mame had very little hope. But, although she was careful not to betray it, she had a certain amount of defiance. As she bent over the machine she felt the eyes of Lady Violet upon her. After all, why should this girl sit in judgment? So far she had only had to play at life. She had never had to wonder where the next crust was coming from; she had never had to drudge at things she hated; she had never really known what it was to be tempted. Boredom, squalor, misery, what did this high-flyer know of these?

Mame was feeling sore. And there was a kind of savage pride in her, which forbade the showing of her heart. She would ask no concession. How could she, without lowering herself in her own eyes? If the sentence was ruin she would accept it. She must find the strength to pack her traps and walk out of that alluring house just as if nothing had happened.

All the same these thoughts hurt so much that her eyes began to fill with tears. They were the first which had gathered there since the weary days of childhood that now seemed very far away. Suddenly quite a large one dripped on to the machine. Mame fiercely brushed it off with her handkerchief. But it was too late. The mischief was done.

There was a pause. It was rather strained and rather odd. And then she woke to the fact that Lady Violet was speaking. Moreover, she was speaking in the gay and whimsical voice that Mame had grown to love.

“Little Puss, I’ve been thinking about things. I’m more to blame than you. One had no right to tempt you like that.”

This aspect of the case had not occurred to Mame. It was a generous interpretation of the matter; it was, also, a diplomatic one which skilfully opened a short way out.

“No, you just hadn’t,” said Mame. “But don’t think I excuse myself. I expect,” she added wistfully, “you’ll never be able to trust me again.”

That was precisely the thought which was now troubling Lady Violet. But she had not the heart to be really hard. There was something brave and big about the child; a gameness, a never-say-die-ness which appealed to one’s sporting instincts. She was immensely worth helping. But to go into partnership with her?--that was a thorny question. One had to be able to trust blindly in such a case.

“No, I’ll say not.” Mame read her thoughts. “And after this I have a kind of hunch that I can’t trust myself.”

Lady Violet looked shrewdly at Mame. She recognised, at any rate, her own weakness, and to that extent there was hope for her. Besides, the particular circumstances need not arise a second time. The next “bonanza” that came along, if she had the least doubt about giving it publicity, let her have the good sense to keep to herself. It was hardly fair to put temptation in the way of one whose genius for news made her so susceptible.

Reflection convinced Lady Violet that this was a case for broad views. A woman who really knows the world does not ask too much of human nature. To be forewarned is to be forearmed. And the childish air of penitence was so appealing that Lady Violet was tempted to put the best face she could on the matter.

Mame, after all, was not fired. Good sense and good will on one side, repentance on the other, did much to heal the breach. The friendship continued; they were able to work together as of yore.

In some ways their respect for each other deepened. The business pact into which they now entered was almost ideal. Mame’s head, from the mundane aspect of dollars, was by far the shrewder of the two. Money meant so much more to her than it did to Lady Violet. She had learned a sharp lesson; also she was “clever as she could stick” and a splendid worker. From a business point of view she was undoubtedly a treasure.

Mame, for her part, was quick to perceive that the partner pulled her weight in the boat. Celimene was strongest wherein she lacked. Taste, style, charm, discretion were worth-while things in high-grade newspaper work. Lady Violet had all these. And still better, she had access to sources of information which the ordinary journalist could seldom tap. She was asked everywhere, known everywhere, not in her capacity of Celimene of the London _Courier_ or Clio of the New York _Monitor_, but as the daughter of her late father, a distinguished man, of her much-respected mother and by virtue of many highly placed connections. Apart from her skill with a pen, she was a most accomplished diner-out; one of the few real conversationalists of either sex left in London. Witty, informed, she repeated her father’s popularity twenty years before. Powerful friends who remembered and admired him were glad to open their doors and their hearts to her.

There was every reason why the new firm should prosper. And it did. Even if New York was paying “big money” on the strength of the “scoop” in the matter of the Royal engagement, there was reason to think it would not have to regret its enterprise.

“We’ve now to see that we deliver the goods,” said Mame. “Our London Letter’s got to be the best on the market.”

Mame went all out. Little Miss Chicago was to be seen everywhere. She, too, was careful not to associate herself with the London _Courier_ or the New York _Monitor_. By now she was established more or less as “the richest thing that ever happened.” The cunning phrase had come to her by a side wind. Even if secretly it wounded her pride, she had a shrewd perception of its value.

That two-edged phrase was her open sesame, as Family was the open sesame of Lady Violet. The world in which she was now beginning to move with some freedom was willing to forgive much for the sake of Pop. Yet absolutely nothing was known at the Embassy about the mysterious Mr. Du Rance. Certain countrywomen of “little Miss Chicago” were indefatigable in their inquiries. But in the end all boiled down to the plain fact that Du Rance _père_ was a homely farmer of hogs who, no doubt, had come into his kingdom rather late in life.

Meanwhile his daughter got about. Even the dance at Clanborough House, on the evening of the second of June, was graced by her presence. Dear Emily, who, as all the world knew, was apt to fuss over the invitations to share her well-considered hospitality, actually sent a card to the naïve little thing when people like the So-and-So’s, who had been established three years in Park Lane, had to go wanting.

One thing must be said for Miss Thingamy. She really was an excellent dancer. Anyhow, dear Violet’s brother, that nice young man in the Pinks, seemed to take as many turns with her as with that charming girl Gwendolen Childwick. She, too, was a _partie_. But of course, rather “heavy cake.” So that towards the end of a most enjoyable evening--dear Emily’s evenings were always so enjoyable--rumours began to arise of jealous riding. From the purely dancing point of view Miss What-was-her-name could put poor Gwendolen to bed any old time--could fairly tuck her up, as it were, in her little cot. Really no comparison between the two. Trade, of course, both. But who minds trade these days? Besides, Celebrated Three Ply Flannelette is so much more distinguished than Hogs.

That fearful accent, my dear. Quite the wrong kind of American. What a pity that since the War there has been such a lowering of European standards. Don’t you remember, my dear, when you and I first came over, what enormous trouble our parents took that we should do and say nothing to disgrace them? And even then it wasn’t altogether easy, was it? Sad, my dear, to see how things have changed. But as I took the opportunity of saying privately to dear Emily, if that type of American does really get off with an old marquisate there is bound to be a slump in the more respectable English titles.

XXXIV

“Little Puss, of course you will not touch the Canary. But there are other birds on the bough.”

Lady Violet did not use these exact words, but that was Mame’s astute interpretation of the light in her eye and the smile on her face. What she did say was: “Your dancing last night with my brother was admired. People were asking who you were.” But more, far more, was implied by the point and the humour with which she made those statements.

It was the morning after the Clanborough House ball. Mame, at ease in an armchair after a late breakfast, had a pleasant feeling of success. She had passed a fairly stiff examination with flying colours. Her sponsor was proud of her. She had looked well, carried herself well, danced beautifully. Even Aunt Emily, who was _so_ critical, had spoken of her “as an unaffected little thing.”

“It is just on the cards that she may invite you to Scotland for a fortnight at the end of August. There’s great fun at Dunkeldie every year. And any amount of competition to get there. But in the meantime, if one may offer a hint, you’ll see that nobody spikes your guns. Some of your American friends are out on the warpath.”

“No friends of mine. Spiteful cats, mainly, and I don’t seem to mind letting some of them know it.”

“Well, I don’t think I would if I were you. They can do you more harm than you can do them.”

Mame saw the truth of that. “But they don’t love me, these birds. And I’d just like to shoot them all on sight.”

Lady Violet laughed at the fierceness. But she well understood her feelings. Certain distinguished members of the American colony were giving trouble. Du Rance was a name unknown in Chicago. It was unknown in Washington. It was unknown in New York.

“Make hay while the sun shines, my dear.” That was the sum of Lady Violet’s wisdom. It was a great stroke of luck being in with Aunt Emily. She was one of the few people who still really counted. But Pressure was being brought to bear. Miss Du Rance had not been presented. Her credentials had not been verified. Doubt had even been cast upon the wealth of Poppa.

The woman of the world let fall a hint that several _partis_ were about, who in their way were not unattractive.

“You kinda think I ought to put myself in solid.” Mame had a touch of that crude force which some people found so engaging and other people didn’t.

“No saying when the luck may change. One can never quite depend on Aunt Emily. She might be got at. Our friend Mrs. Creber Newsum is out for blood. I don’t know what you’ve done to the lady, but from what one hears she’s got quite an edge on her tomahawk.”

“That old squaw!” said the contemptuous Mame. “I’m not afraid of her.”

Lady Violet was inclined to reprove. Her experience was that it never did to underrate one’s foes. If people were not well disposed towards one, it paid as a rule to be afraid of them.

Mame, nevertheless, was not afraid of Mrs. Creber Newsum.

“She carries weight now her husband has got his diplomatic leg up. And she’s in with the Childwicks.”

“Who are the Childwicks, any old way?” asked Mame injudiciously. She realised her break the instant she had been guilty of it.

The Childwicks were all right. Lady Violet made that statement with a perceptible change of voice. “Gwendolen Childwick is as good as engaged to Bill, you know. Strictly between ourselves, mother is a bit surprised the announcement hasn’t been made already.”

“A regular mother’s boy, is he?” Mame audaciously observed.

“What mother says goes--with Bill. And he knows that she quite approves of Gwendolen.”

“Don’t _he_ approve of her?” Mame was still more audacious.

Bill’s sister laughed coolly. “Dear Gwendolen is very nice and she is an heiress. And Pop and Mommer Childwick were well known at Washington long before they came over here.”

“The right kind of American, I guess.”

Mame’s naïveté met with further reproof. “One only speaks, my child, of the wrong kind of American. The right kind is left to speak for itself. And the moment it speaks for itself it becomes the wrong kind--if I make myself clear?”

“You do and you don’t,” said the candid Mame. “But to come down to cases, I’ve got to keep my eyes skinned for the Childwick push.”

“Among others. They are not your friends, exactly. I don’t know why. And they have the ear of Aunt Emily, who, please don’t forget, as far as the funny old English village of Mayfair is concerned, is the nearest card you hold at the moment to the ace of trumps. You may pick up others later, but my advice is to hold on at present with both paws to Aunt Emily.”

Mame saw the force of that. “Do you think I ought to get a new dress for this party next month?”

“The heliotrope will do quite well. Gwympe has made it beautifully.”

“And only charged half price, as we are giving her that write-up. So I can blow myself off to another if you think I ought to have one.”

That was not at all necessary. It would be hard to improve on the heliotrope. But one further word of caution. Mame must be wise about Gwendolen. As far as Clanborough House was concerned she had it in her to be dangerous. “So, as I say,” the mentor concluded, “I hope you’ll be wise about her.”

“I will,” Mame faithfully promised.

“And don’t forget there are others.” The face of the mentor was full of mystic meaning.

“I won’t,” promised Mame.

XXXV

Mame had received a sort of hint that one or two nice plums were in the matrimonial basket.

For some weeks to come she had every opportunity of judging how nice the plums in the basket really were. No matter where the ripe fruit clustered, there to be seen was _la belle Américaine_. Not that, strictly speaking, she took rank as “a looker.” Really and truly she did not pretend to beauty. But she had a way with her. She had the charm of one not afraid to be herself. And that as much as anything was what people liked about her. She was not afraid to be herself. So many of her more sophisticated compatriots were shy of giving nature a chance.

Perhaps they hardly realised that what passes for aristocracy in England is essentially barbarous; it counts freedom and frankness and don’t-care-a-damness as second only to dollars. Mame had her share of the first and was reputed to have more than her share of the second. Thus, to the annoyance of a coterie among her countrywomen, who were blessed with girls of their own, she was likely to cut rather more ice than their privately tutored-and-governessed, trained-to-the-minute offspring. She was such an Original, while they conformed to a type. Where they were all prunes and prisms, little Miss Chicago was forcible and unexpected.

By the time Miss Du Rance had been seen at the Embassy on the evening of the Fourth of July and she had been seen again in the grounds of Buckingham Palace on the afternoon of the Fifth, the coterie began “to get the wind up.” Was it really a fact that dear Emily had invited Miss Thingamy to Dunkeldie for the last week in August and the first week in September? If so, it was almost a scandal. Polly Childwick certainly thought so; likewise Marcella Creber Newsum. Moreover, they both agreed that it would be doing dear, simple-hearted Emily an act of Christian kindness to say so. And the more forcibly it was said the more kind and the more Christian the act would be.

* * * * *

Dunkeldie hung in the balance. If Mame could bring off that it would be a _coup_. Such was Lady Violet’s considered opinion and she knew every blade of grass on the course.

Still, the remnant of the prehistoric Four Hundred, a sort of prætorian Old Guard, was mustering every ounce that it possessed in the way of “influence.” Dunkeldie would be a bit too much, when people like those really nice Perkinses with a villa on the Lido and their eldest boy in the Blues were still out in the cold. Dear Emily was so conservative in some ways; and yet in others, like ordinary mortals, so apt to be taken in.

It was that wicked Violet who was really to blame. She had an atrocious and ill-bred habit of pulling legs. One never quite knew how one stood with her. She seemed to have a down on certain people who were considerably richer than herself; she was very unconventional; and quite uncomfortably clever. Why she was running this Miss Du Rance nobody knew; but the opinion was growing that at the back of the mind of the freakish Violet was a desire to make Clanborough House look foolish.

Somebody ought to warn dear Emily. It was a Christian duty. Besides, if persons like Miss Du Rance were given the run of the garden what was the use of trying to remain exclusive? With the whole world topsy-turvy, people in the position of dear Emily could not be too careful.

Lady Violet had shrewdly diagnosed the state of the case. The Colony was arming itself, the Pilgrim Daughters were going out on the warpath. They could not afford to let this dangerous little feline have things all her own way. Even her dollars could not condone her. And the best and latest information was unable to say where and what those dollars were.

The Puss, it was clear, had nothing to give away. Let her bear in mind that she still had to walk delicately. Many vigilant hands were simply itching to cut her claws and to trim her fur. The odd thing was she did not appear to amuse her compatriots at all; whereas the natives of the island seemed to find her great fun. It was her dollars, of course. But then those who hail from the land where dollars grow are apt to be so much less charmed by them than the poor and rather mercenary British.

Mame continued “to get around.” The main reason, no doubt, was that her work made it necessary. But soon a certain ambition took root in her. According to the office calendar, There is a Tide. While she was about it, she would be wise to neglect no opportunity of putting herself in solid. Experience had taught her already that if you don’t take the chances that offer, your luck has a nasty trick of back-firing. Yes, if opportunity arose it would be well to be in solid.

Henley was fun. So was Ascot. So was Hurlingham. So was Lord’s. Perhaps Henley was the best fun of all. Somehow, honest Thames water seemed to take a bit of starch out of the folks. Then there were several jolly dances; and other functions, rather more formal, but still in their way pleasant.

Week by week Mame met the same crowd under slightly differing conditions. And even her sponsor owned that it was wonderful how she adjusted herself to circumstances. Under expert guidance she was now developing a sure instinct of her own. It soon began to make a real difference to her personality. Happily it didn’t take out the “pep.”

She was astonishingly quick at picking up ideas. And she was not content merely to pick them up; she had a faculty for putting them to new and entertaining uses. Lady Violet, for all her experience of two continents, had never seen anyone like her. She was a unique combination of demureness and daring. The things she said and the way she said them were beyond the compass of ordinary mortals. If you admired her dollars they went; if you didn’t admire her dollars these gems of thought rather “got the bird.”

But dollars are fascinating things. In England a mere rumour of them appears to have glamour. Since the War they have been getting so scarce, except among the wrong people. Miss Du Rance might be in that inclusive category, but then she was so adaptable. Her nationality and her youth were immensely in her favour. Dear Percy and dear Algernon, of course, would have to marry somebody; there did not seem to be enough British money to go round; it was a bore, her not having been presented, but no doubt she could be on her marriage. And even if she had no friends in America, that was more than offset by being “in” with Clanborough House.

Lady Violet, in the meantime, scented the breeze and enjoyed her wicked self hugely. Like her father, that charming and distinguished man, she had a rather unconventional view of life. Certain pomposities and pretensions gave her an impish desire to prick them. She knew that when it came down to bedrock they were rooted in mere lucre. In spite of its airs and graces, so cleverly used as a screen for the vulgar truth, the British aristocracy, what was left of it, was the most mercenary institution on the face of the earth. She did not blame it in the least. Being a woman of the world she did not blame anything for anything just now. It was one hell of a scramble with the devil hanging on to the hindmost. But if one had a sense of humour and kept one’s eyes open, it was wonderful what fun was to be got out of the charming piggy-wiggies one saw in the dear old stye.

The Canary was sacred, of course. Dear Mother had kept up her end so bravely; and Gwendolen was a good and sensible girl, though a little dull. But the minor dicky birds, the Percies and the Algernons were fair game for an early rising Puss, who had had its little tail twisted pretty severely at one time or another. As good as gold she was too, but without a sou, except what she earned by her own wits.

Meanwhile, the battle raged. Lady Violet resolved that Mame should be invited to Scotland for the deer stalking. It would crown her success. Such pluck deserved recognition. Lady Violet had a strong dash of sportsmanship in her. She was all for the underdog; and the uncalled-for attitude of certain people had rather “got her goat.” Live and let live was an excellent motto; in fact, it so happened that it was the motto of the Trehernes. She enjoyed nothing better than to salt the tails of the Marcella Creber Newsums of the earth and their British prototypes. Mame was doing harm to nobody, yet New York-on-Thames was determined to down her.