Chapter D: Appleton and Company (7)

Foodless and miserable Mame left the precincts of the Ladies Imperium and crossed over to the Green Park. The sun had a real touch of warmth in it. Flowers, bird music, the gentle breath of spring were all around. But Mame subsided in the first seat she came to beyond the railings and had desperately to fight a threat of tears.

What a mess she had made of things! In one brief hour she had been cast down from the heights. She felt that all was lost. Yes, all, including honour. There was no excuse for what she had done. She had been tempted and she had fallen.

For about twenty minutes she sat there in despair. And then a diversion came. It was the sort of diversion that in this dark hour she would have given much to avoid. But it seemed there was no escape. It had to be met.

Right in the midst of her painful reflections her eye was caught by a tall, free-striding, oncoming figure. Moreover, the recognition was mutual and it was simultaneous. Bill had seen her in the very moment that she had seen him. He had a bulldog on a lead, a large, ugly, yet most amiable beast. Both Bill and his dog seemed on very good terms with life. Bill in particular looked pleased with his luck in finding little Miss Chicago sitting alone on a seat in the Green Park, at one thirty-five in the afternoon.

He as good as said so.

Mame was not much given to tears. Her life had always been too hard for luxuries of that kind. But seldom had she been nearer shedding them. Bill, however, must not guess that anything was wrong. Yet, for all her powers of dissimulation, which were not inconsiderable, he was not wholly deceived.

“You want some lunch,” he said in the casual manner that belonged to his sister and yet with a half-humorous directness peculiarly his own. Mame liked that directness exceedingly. And never more than now. There was something very masculine about it, something genuine, something protective. It was not the least of the penalties she had incurred that she would have to forego the society of Bill. And of the likes of Bill.

“Well, what about it?” he broke in upon the distinct pause that had followed his statement. “Let’s nip across to the Berkeley and have a bite. Or the Ritz--if you prefer it?”

Mame did not feel like the Berkeley, nor yet like the Ritz.

“I’m not hungry,” she said with a lack of nuance for which she despised herself.

“Well, I am. About this hour I often get like that. Come and have a small lobster. It’ll do you good, I’m sure.”

The invitation was declined. Conversationally he could not knock any sparks out of the pretty and clever little American, whom he liked as much as any girl he had come across lately.

Bill was concerned. She looked as if she would be all the better for a good cry. Something had happened, something pretty serious, but there was no means of knowing what. And such a pretty little puss! There was a touching look about her. Bill was a chivalrous young man; and at that moment he felt he could ask nothing better than to stand between this attractive little girl and the rubs of a hard world.

Notwithstanding an honest need of luncheon Bill could not deny any solace it might be his to afford. He took a seat by the side of Miss Du Rance and prattled charmingly on.

“You’re goin’, of course, to that dance on the second at Clanborough House?”

Miss Du Rance said rather miserably that she didn’t know.

“Don’t know.” Consternation was in the tone. “I understood from Vi that you were going with her.”

Mame shivered slightly in her thin spring suit. But the winds of Britain cannot be trusted right up till the end of June.

“It’ll be the best rag of the season. All the folks will be there. You must come--you simply must. Best floor in London. Capital supper. Rippin’ band. Uncle J. and Aunt E. always do things top hole. Jolly sitting-out place in the small library downstairs. Everybody don’t know it, though, which makes it so much the jollier.”

But Miss Du Rance did not respond. There was something seriously wrong with the girl.

“I was hopin’ you’d dance two or three times with me. I know I’m a hod-carrier, but you’ll own that I’ve improved quite a bit since you took me in hand.”

Miss Du Rance did own that. But there was certainly room for improvement in Bill’s form on the parquet, even if she was too kind to say so. Besides, she really liked the boy. There was that about him no girl could help liking. He was so open, so genuine, so manly.

“If you’re not there it’ll be most disappointing.”

“There’ll be Miss Childwick to console you,” jumped to the tip of Mame’s tongue. Happily she was able to keep it from slipping off.

The abrupt and sharp thought of Miss Three Ply Flannelette of the glorious yet supercilious eyes somehow gave Mame a jolt. And that was exactly what she needed. It lent her a punch. The memory of Miss Three Ply Flannelette pulled her together as nothing else could have done.

Even if she had just had a heavy blow, she must not think of giving in. All was not lost yet, whatever line Lady Violet might adopt towards her. There was something about Bill’s manner that had set her agile and enterprising mind to work.

A week or so ago Lady Violet had been good enough to throw out a sort of gentle hint that little cats were not allowed to look at a certain Canary. There were other nice birds in the aviary. In fact at this season of the year the place was swarming with ’em good and plenty. The little Puss in question could take her pick, always provided she was clever enough to catch one. But let her please remember that a certain Canary was not on the menu.

Yes, that was all very well; but circumstances have a knack of altering cases. The heart of Puss began to harden at the thought. Such a simple, harmless, pretty bird! And actually perching, mark you, on one of her velvet forepaws.

The clocks of the neighbourhood chimed two.

“How the time does fly,” Bill observed.

“You don’t say,” remarked the little Puss.

The old note, the old quaint note at which the young marquis invariably chuckled. Such an Original, this girl. Everybody was beginning to say so--quite apart from her money! And Poppa’s hogs had kept poor old Europe for years.

Bill reluctantly rose. “Yes, two o’clock, by gad!” He really must see about a small lobster. At three he had to meet a girl at Hurlingham and watch the polo. “The Yanks, I fear, have got us beat to a frazzle.”

“Shouldn’t wonder at all.” The little Puss began circumspectly to lick her sly lips. And then with seeming carelessness: “Do I know the lady?”

“A Miss Childwick. You’ve barged into her once or twice at the Dance Club.”

“You mean she has barged into me.”

“That’s exactly what I do mean,” said Bill with candour. “Nice girl, but she can’t begin to move in the way that you do. You might be a professional.”

“Thank you,” said Miss Du Rance coldly. It was a two-edged compliment.

“What I mean to say is Gwendolen--”

“Her name’s Gwendolen!”

“And I are not exactly thistledown when we float around, while you are just as light as a feather. And if you don’t show up on the second, it’ll knock the bottom out of the jolliest dance of the year.”

“You get after that lobster or you’ll be late for the good old walloping America’s going to give you.”

“Sure you won’t come and share a humble crust at the Berkeley?”

Miss Chicago was quite sure.

“Well, so long. But if you don’t show up on the second it’ll be real mean.”

With every appearance of reluctance Bill and his dog moved slowly away in a northwesterly direction.

The eyes of Miss Du Rance followed them wistfully until they passed from view. Then she got up and took the opposite path, which led among other places to the Army and Navy Stores. Already a new fire had been kindled in her strong young heart.

XXXIII

It was rather late in the afternoon when Mame returned to Half Moon Street. She had powlered up and down a bit, had had a cup of tea at the Stores, and had given some time to examining various novelties with an eye to Celimene’s weekly letter. But she was still feeling decidedly miserable.

Lady Violet was out. She generally was at this hour of the day. Mame took off her hat and then sat doggedly down at the typewriter. There was plenty of work to be done; and she decided to go on doing it just as if nothing had happened.

It was not easy, however, to fix her mind on her job. Something had told her that she was going to be “fired”; and probably quite soon. She was really more occupied with what could be saved from the wreck than with the task in hand. But however she looked at the matter, there was no escaping the fact that it was in Lady Violet’s power to ruin her socially.

Unless!

It was also in Lady Violet’s power to ruin her professionally, unless Elmer P. was willing to forgive her for making him look a fool. In any case she would have earned the reputation of being a regular fly-up-the-creek; and she knew enough of her calling by this time to be aware that such a name was about the worst possible for a newspaper girl.

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.

However, they would see. It was true that Aunt Emily seemed to be wavering. Eton v. Harrow was through. People were packing up and clearing off to Goodwood and then to Cowes for the yachting. Lady Violet obtained an invitation for her little friend aboard the _Excelsior_ with those comic people the Dunnings. Glorious beer. But in Britain these days there was great competition even for that. It was one of the key industries that had done very well in the War. She herself was going to spend five days aboard the _Excelsior_, if she was able to survive them. No doubt she would. New people were so much more amusing than the old. But she had rather made it a condition that she should be accompanied by her little friend.

Still, Cowes and the Dunnings were a mere side show. Scotland at the end of next month would be the joy wheel. And Aunt Emily seemed to be wavering. To Celimene’s chagrin, Mame had not been included in the invitation she herself had already received. If it went phut, it would be one up to the other side.

A proper score for Mrs. Creber Newsum if Miss Du Rance was left out. Her friend and partner chivalrously felt she must be up and doing. In some ways it would suit the firm better for Mame to stay in town gathering news while Celimene was sunning herself on the moors, but that hardly seemed fair. Besides, their job could be carried on anywhere within reach of a telegraph office; and in that respect Dunkeldie was very well off.

Honest work and real grit had earned the reward of a jolly fortnight. Celimene was fully determined that Mame should have it. She was beginning to take a personal pride in the success against odds of this clever child. Besides, if little Miss Chicago was left out in the cold, there would be smiles.

The thing hung fire so long that it began to look as if the day was going against them. Mame herself inclined to think so. The Colony was very active; it was always trying to call her bluff. All through the summer she had managed to keep her chin above water, but she could not expect to go on like that forever. Soon or late, something was bound to happen.

There were several reasons why Mame’s heart was set on an invitation to Dunkeldie; but one must not look for everything in this world. All the same it was a defeat. And the moral of it was, no doubt, that at last the tide had begun to turn.

XXXVI

Cowes was very enjoyable. The _Excelsior_ was a comfortable yacht. Its hospitality was lavish. Dunning _père_ was perhaps inclined to set a value on himself; the same applied to Dunning _mère_; but Sidney Dunning, heir to half a million six per cent debentures, was well mannered and attentive. On the slightest provocation he showed a decided tendency to come along.

For some reason Lady Violet did not seem to warm to the Dunnings, although she managed to take money off them at bridge, a game in which Miss Du Rance had been recently initiated and for which she showed quite an aptitude. But in the matter of Sidney Dunning, the sponsor was inclined to think Mame might do worse. New money of course. Still. _Que voulez vous?_ They lived in times when all money was new; the Bolshies of the earth, by no means confined to Russia, had seen to that. Sidney Dunning was really not so bad. Eton and Christ Church: a little comically so, dear lad! But if Miss Du Rance was giving her mind to such matters there could be no harm in Sidney Dunning. A _mère_, of course, was bent on a title; still in Celimene’s opinion it was rather up to Mame.

Sidney Dunning would be an insurance anyway. He was not the only dabchick on the water; there were others good and plenty; but his plumage was more richly feathered than theirs; and in the circumstances he would perhaps be safer. Half a million six per cent, high-class brewery debentures are nice things to have locked up in your husband’s strong box when you have no money of your own. Still, a little impertinent all this of Celimene, was not it?

Not at all. Kind of Celimene to be so interested. But Mame felt she must take time to think over the matter. Some of the other birds on the water were such sweet ducks that it seemed a pity to grab at the nearest, merely because of its geographical situation.

XXXVII

At the last moment, almost, came the much-desired invitation to Dunkeldie. Lady Violet having heard that Mabel, her recently married sister, had decided not to go north this year, although expected to do so as usual, took the news in person to the ducal yacht as soon as it entered the harbour. As the astute Violet foresaw, Aunt Emily felt herself to be in rather a hat. It was a bit late in the day. Whoever filled the vacancy would do so now as an obvious substitute. Nobody likes to be that, as her niece was careful to point out. But her clever little American friend who was seeing as much of Britain as she could in the shortest possible time was likely to have no feelings of that kind. And everybody found her such fun!

It was always Aunt Emily’s instinct to take the line of least resistance, particularly where the enterprising Violet was concerned. Dear Violet had her peculiarities, but she was a general favourite. She was so vivacious, so modern, so good-natured. You couldn’t help liking Violet.

On this occasion Violet did not disdain a tactical _coup_. While Aunt Emily wavered she presented a kind of ultimatum. She had taken it so much for granted that Miss Du Rance would be included in the invitation to Dunkeldie, that she was afraid she could not go north without her little friend. This rather “put it up” to Aunt Emily. But as the clever niece surmised, her own position with Clanborough House was strong enough “to try it on.”

Aunt Emily had really no very strong feelings in the matter, even if some of her friends appeared to have. There was no harm in the little American beyond the fact, as one of the most influential of her countrywomen had quaintly expressed it, “she was as common as pig tracks.” But as the unconventional Violet pointed out, it all came down to whether one cared for a little garlic in the salad. Most people, nowadays, liked a dash of pungency. Even the most fastidious were in favour of a touch of spice in the social dish. There was no harm in Miss Du Rance. Her only crime, even in the eyes of her critics, was that she was so very amusing. She would certainly add to the gaiety of Dunkeldie and that was all that mattered.

Face to face with dear Violet, Aunt Emily did not take long to yield. Of late years this clever niece had been the life and soul of the party; her absence would now make a gap that nothing could fill. Besides, in some ways Miss Du Rance was the obvious solution. If she didn’t really mind being asked at such short notice she would be made very welcome at Dunkeldie.

The invitation was really obtained by _force majeure_. But none the less it came in its way as a triumph. Yet it was not so much a triumph for Miss Du Rance as for her friend and sponsor. Mame was still rather unsophisticated. Certain social nuances meant less to her than to Celimene. One set of “the folks” was much like another; so long as she could keep getting about to this function and that, she would not worry. But Lady Violet had made her protégée’s cause so much her own that she felt she could hardly afford to have her publicly slighted.

Odd, was it not, that dear Violet should be so determined to run the funny little American? But Violet was like that. She was always “running” someone. And as a rule the someone was more or less impossible. One year it was a Russian dancer, another a cubist painter, or a Polish musician. She seemed to take up queer people and develop a passion for them as others did for pekes or bulldogs or chows or angoras. Dear Violet’s trouble was too many brains. Her vein of freakishness sought expression in the freakishness of the world at large.

Dunkeldie, as usual, was a huge success. The weather was perfect; the sport excellent. But the sport hardly mattered so much, even if it were heresy to say so, as in less attractive places. It was the people who gathered there who counted most. Year by year they came to Dunkeldie to have a good time. Along with some of the finest shots in the kingdom were others who, if they did not add to the prowess of the field, were highly accomplished in the arts and the graces of life.

For Mame this was a fresh phase of existence. Her few days at Cowes aboard the _Excelsior_ had done something to prepare her for the freedom of the moors; but Dunkeldie itself, gorgeously set in the lee of the Grampians, was something new. Dunkeldie was beyond her dreams. On the August evening she motored with Lady Violet from the train at Inverauchty, which was fifteen miles away and the nearest railway station, and saw the great house of stone nestling against a background of mountain and forest and the heather billowing around it, she gave a little gasp. In rich and mysterious beauty it was a place of faëry. She had read of such homes, she had seen them pictured on the screen, but even in her most fanciful moments she hardly expected to find them in her life good and real.

When they wound uphill, in rather precipitous half circles, that last astonishing mile to the proud keep of Dunkeldie, and drew up in the golden light before the low lintel of the main entrance to the Castle, the first person to welcome them was Bill. He stood in the doorway looking superbly handsome in a sporran and kilt. The place itself was a thing of sheer beauty and somehow Bill matched it.

At the sight of him Mame’s heart began to dance. He sent a loud who-whoop echoing among the angles of the stone walls and again danced her heart. And when he flung open the door of their car, before the douce footman could get down from his box, or another of his like could spring out from the portico, her blood thrilled. There seemed to be magic in the air.

From the very hour of her arrival this feeling of magic in the air was upon Mame. And all the wonderful days she was at Dunkeldie it never left her. The house itself was an embodied tradition. Its glamour was haunted by the spirit of place. That ancient roof-tree held strange secrets; and nothing so far in Mame’s life had quite prepared her for them.

The train had reached Inverauchty an hour and a quarter late, as the trains in that part of the world had a way of doing. Dinner was due in twenty minutes. Therefore it was a bit of a scurry to change. Bill’s only accomplishment, at least to which he owned, although other people rated him a pretty useful shot and a fairly straight rider to hounds, was that he could “dress” in ten minutes; but neither his sister nor Miss Du Rance, even with Davis to help them, was quite up to that. Still in a quarter of an hour Celimene was looking her gay and cool and distinguished self in an old and plain black gown. It took Mame longer than that to don a frock rather more pictorial; but with Davis “to do her up,” she was looking presentable if not quite as Chick as she could have desired by the time dinner was announced.

The guests, to the number of a round twenty, assembled in the armoury, a sort of large hall whose ancient usage had been agreeably softened by modern comfort. It sounded dull, dismal, draughty, dour; as a fact it was quite cosy; and it had the advantage of being cool in summer, warm in winter. This evening at the end of August, its temperature was a happy medium. Whatever chill there was in it, due to the lengthening of the shadows around the mullioned windows, was merged in a general atmosphere of cheery good will.

Even Uncle John and Aunt Emily, whose long suit was not exactly cheeriness, at any rate of a wildly festive kind, made a heroic effort this evening to assume that virtue. Nothing could have exceeded the kindness of their welcome. If they did not pretend to intellectual brilliance, and they had to be on their guard lest a sense of dignity was a little overdone, they were very sensible, well-meaning people; and if you were invited to their board they laid themselves out to see that you had a good time.

Mame soon felt at home. The day’s journey had been long and tedious, but with the resiliency of youth she was able thoroughly to enjoy her dinner. Bill sat one side of her and a very distinguished politician who knew America and had a keen appreciation of all things American, sat the other. Conversation flowed. Good stories crossed the dinner table. A piper came skirling round the chairs of the guests. Wine, wit and good fellowship circulated freely. Mame surrendered to the feeling that this was life.

She took her sponsor’s advice and went to bed early and in that wonderful highland air slept as never before unless it was in the early days on the farm after many hours of drudgery. It was a dreamless and renewing sleep and was only terminated when a sonsy lassie set some tea and bread and butter by the side of her bed, unbolted the large shutters and let in the sun.

Five minutes later when Mame sprang out of bed and gazed through the window upon the glory of the scene, the first object to catch her eye was a young man on the fair green below. He was diligently coaxing a small ball into an invisible hole by means of an odd piece of iron. Mame’s education, as yet, had not included the game of golf. But she knew it when she saw it. And as she stood watching this player she felt the time had come to develop her knowledge of a science peculiarly Scottish.

The player was Bill. There was no escaping him. Early and late he seemed to be always in the centre of the picture. But why should one wish to escape him? Who could be fairer to look upon? A sight for sair eyne, as these quaint Scots said, this tall, brown, upstanding young fellow.

By the time Mame was through the business of dressing, she had made up her mind to repair one more gap in her education. She must learn to play golf. And Bill it should be to give her a first lesson. A believer in the definite object, and a mark to aim at in the life of each day, she was as confirmed a go-getter in the Scotch highlands as on Broadway or in the Strand.

Quickly she swallowed her porridge and bacon and sought the diligent Bill. He was still putting. In his way he also was a go-getter. For the time being, at any rate, he was the slave of ambition. Twelve was his present handicap, yet he saw no reason why concentration on the short game should not soon reduce it to a more seemly nine.

With the genial forthcomingness that Mame considered to be not the least of Bill’s merits, he made his ambition known to her as soon as she came upon the scene. And she, with the engaging frankness which in his eyes was so attractive, promptly confided her own resolve. No hour like the present, declared Bill. The stalkers would not seek the hills before noon. Plenty of time for a lesson.

“I’ll borrow a club off Gwendolen Childwick. Mine are a bit heavy for you. Then I’ll show you the swing. In this game the swing is everything; and it’s jolly difficult.”

Mame was sure that it was. With a merry eye she watched Simplicitas stroll away in quest of Gwendolen Childwick’s bag. Gwendolen was a “scratch” player. Her bag was simply bulging with drivers and brassies, not to mention irons and spoons.

If Bill was not, broadly speaking, one of nature’s most solid chunks of wisdom, that is to say he was a most deliciously tactless young man, he was yet brimming over with other qualities. And these greatly commended themselves to Mame. She broke into a low carol of pure joy when the sweet boob returned in about five minutes with Miss Childwick’s second-best driver.

“Didn’t seem very keen on lending it, for some reason.” He proceeded to lock Mame’s fingers round the leather in the Vardon grip. “Worst of these classic gowfers is they are so fearfully particular about their clubs. But we can’t possibly do this one any harm, can we?”

Mame was sure they could not.

They spent a profitable hour. This pretty and clever Miss Du Rance was a very apt pupil. Bill was convinced the root of the matter was in her. These Americans had a wonderful faculty for picking up games. And their minds were so fresh and so cute. Most amusing che-ild he had met in a month of Sundays. The things she said and the way she said them! Yet learning, mark you, to swing that bally old club better and better all the time.

“You’ll make a player,” was Bill’s pronouncement at the end of the lesson. “If you stick to it.”

Rejoined little Miss Chicago: “I’ll stick to it like a sick kitten to a warm brick. Once I take a thing up I just hold on by my teeth. Do you think you can give me another lesson to-morrow, at the same time and the same place?”

“I’ll be delighted.” And Simplicitas looked as if he meant it.

XXXVIII

The next morning Mame received her second lesson in the art of golf. On this occasion the reluctant Gwendolen’s mashie was commandeered. As the amount of “pretty” at the edge of the putting green was strictly limited--the whole thing was no part of a _bona fide_ course, but a makeshift affair--Bill thought, dear fellow, that Miss Du Rance had better start with the serious business of “the short approach.”

Her faculty for the short approach was marvellous. Physical power was not required. Mental concentration it was that did the trick. You kept your eye on the ball, you sort of coaxed it right up to the hole, then you took a putter and there you were. Just as easy as falling off the Monument, as Miss Du Rance drolly remarked.

Bill took so much interest in the development of her latent skill that a morning lesson of at least one hour became a permanent daily feature. In seven days she had seven lessons. And she was such a sport, and so keen to learn, and Bill took such a pride in her progress and she was altogether so jolly that before half the period was through he was calling her Mame. This course of lessons was quite the most thriving study he had ever undertaken.