Mr. Bang said nothing. I dislike him!
My eyes passed down the column and were again arrested. “Mrs. Lien has
issued invitations to the younger set to a dance at her home on New
Year’s Eve.” No invitation had come for me; my heart sank.
Again I read the notice aloud.
“No doubt a very swell affair,” suggested Uncle, rather cynically.
“I must get you an invitation,” said Mumsie.
“Me! an invitation!” I exclaimed. “Can you get me an invitation?”
“I can ask for one. In the old days———”
“Don’t do it, Auntie,” cut in Bang.
“Why not?” I demanded. Why should this beast of a man interfere with me
and my joys and ambitions?
“Because,” and he looked at me with the most exasperating smile I have
ever seen on a man’s face, “I can arrange it—I can ask Mrs. Malone.”
I gasped and then I wilted. I hope I did not display the anger I had
felt.
“That would do nicely,” agreed Mumsie. “Good idea.”
Whatever I had done or whatever misdirected temper I displayed, I must
see it through, so I asked, with what I hoped was a sincere smile:
“That would be so kind of you Mr. Bang, but who is Mrs. Malone that she
does as you wish?”
“Mrs. Malone happens to be the society editress of the _Telegraph_, and
when she suggests a social favour it is generally acted upon.” He was
certainly frank enough and natural. “Besides, something you may well be
excused for not knowing, Mrs. Lien clapped eyes on me the other day. If
I mistake not she knows I am your fellow guest, and if Auntie asks an
invitation for you, it will carry with it a suggestion for me, which I
don’t want at any cost. Mrs. Malone will discreetly acquaint Mrs. Lien
with the fact that I leave for Toronto on New Year’s Eve.”
Mr. Bang was more good natured at the close of his big speech, but did
the world ever know such another man?
No more was said, and Mr. Bang went with Uncle to town; I to my room.
About lunch-time the telephone rang and Mumsie was told by Mrs. Lien
that an invitation for me was on the way.
In the afternoon I walked out with Mumsie and we ended up at the Queen
Charlotte tea-rooms. Whom should we meet there but Mrs. Bassett and
Ethel? Of course we joined them. In two minutes Mrs. Bassett was pouring
out a tale of woe about her cook who was Scotch and untidy. The standard
topic of respectable society seems to be the servant question.
“Don’t talk to me about servants—old country servants, at least the
kind we get out here, are exasperating, and the native-born domestic has
ceased to exist. I’m all right now, but a month ago I had a
terror—English. She wore white, transparent stockings, and tennis shoes
about the house and, above deck, low neck dresses. I told her she must
alter her attire, and she used up a bottle of my blacking transforming
her tennis shoes. As to rising she was another Elsie Marley. One morning
Mr. Somers met her on the stairs late as usual, and told her he was
about to take her breakfast up to her. This did not affect her in the
least for next day she admired a brooch I was wearing. ‘What a nice
brooch,’ she exclaimed, ‘are the stones real?’”
This sort of talk went on until in came Mrs. Mount. I was so glad, for
although Mrs. Bassett was warming up, she was yet leagues behind Mrs.
Mount in her appeal to my interest. Imagine my joy, therefore, when I
saw Mrs. Mount making directly towards us. She bounced up to our table
and sat down, giving an order to a waitress as she did so. “So glad to
see you both,” she gushed, evidently viewing Ethel and myself as
nonentities or not viewing us at all, “Doris and I are sailing on the
_Carmania_ from New York for the Mediterranean on January 15th; and, do
you know, really, it is such a fag. There’s Mrs. Lien’s ball on New
Year’s Eve. Of course Doris must have a new dress and possibly I may
give a dance too, before we sail. I suppose you girls have been
invited?” And we were for the first time honoured by her notice.
“They both are going,” replied Mumsie.
“Mrs. Lien is so kind; and, after all, there is nothing like the old
families, provided there is go in them.”