Tuesday afternoon saw Miss Amethyst Du Rance armed _cap-à-pie_ for a
second descent upon London society.
Since the opportune arrival of Elmer P.’s letter the invitation to
Half Moon Street had been much in her thoughts. It opened up new
possibilities. And the friend she had so providentially found was
likely to prove of great value in the life she aspired to lead.
Having received her baptism of fire at Clanborough House, Mame had none
of the qualms which, on that occasion, had assailed her. Within her now
was a happy feeling of success. Moreover, a black cloud had been lifted
from her mind. Elmer P.’s letter had changed everything.
By nature adventurous, she was stimulated by the prospect of big
things. To begin with, she bestowed great pains upon her appearance.
She had lately discovered that she paid for dressing; and it gave
her real pleasure to linger over the last touches to her small but
attractive self.
She had, too, an instinct for doing things well. The afternoon was
fine, there was spring in the air, but she could afford a taxi to Half
Moon Street. Therefore she taxi’d. It gave her a sense of being in the
picture to drive up in state to Lady Violet’s flat.
It was about a quarter to four when she found herself going up in the
lift--a handier word than elevator--to 16b on the second floor. She
pressed a neat button and a dinky maid, who was much too smart for
a hired girl, in snowy cap and apron and with a prim English look,
ushered the visitor across a tiny entrance hall into a singularly cosy
and artistically furnished drawing room. To Mame it was quite the last
word in feminine elegance.
It was a little early for callers and she had the good luck to find
Lady Violet alone. As soon as the visitor was announced the hostess
laid aside the novel she was reading, got up cheerily and welcomed her
with that forthcomingness which from the first had taken Mame.
There was great charm in this girl and Mame reacted to it. Here were a
big outlook and first-hand knowledge of the great world. To Lady Violet
life was a game; human nature an amusing spectacle, a kind of comedy
farce; men and women, no matter how highly placed, were merely players.
But she had not a spark of ill nature; at least Mame as yet had not
detected one. Nor, as far as Mame could tell, was she grinding her own
axe. The top-notchers Mame had been privileged to look on in New York
from a respectful distance were not folks of this kidney. They were
mighty careful to keep you at arm’s length, unless you could make them
feel that you had something substantial to give them in return for any
interest they condescended to take in a person as raw as yourself.
This afternoon, however, Mame was not feeling quite so raw as she had
done. Clanborough House combined with the letter from New York had
somehow given her a more substantial basis. It is wonderful what a
feeling of success can do. Besides, Lady Violet, as usual, was just as
easy as pie.
She told the visitor how pleased she was to see her and fixed her
snugly in a chair.
“When are you thinking of going home?”
“I expect I’ll stay on through the summer now.” Mame had a slight air
of importance. “I like the life here and I’ve just had a commission to
report it for the New York _Monitor_.”
“That’ll be interesting.”
Mame hoped it would be. If she was careful how she played her cards it
might be very interesting indeed, but the problem of the moment was the
exact order in which to do so.
She was a creature of quick intuitions. And she promptly decided that
the perfect frankness which up till now had served her so well was
decidedly the card to bank on.
To go around, to see things from the inside, to get into the swim was
Mame’s ambition and she naïvely confessed it to Lady Violet. This new
friend did not discourage it. She did, indeed, seem a little amused,
but not in the way of patronage or ill nature. Perhaps it was because
this quaint thing from a land where Lady Violet herself had enjoyed
jolly times was so liberally endowed with the quality that most
appealed to her in man or woman, horse or hound. It was the quality
best summed up by the good word “pluck,” which from their first chance
meeting had inspired her with an honest desire to help this little
American.
Something about Miss Amethyst De Rance had certainly touched Lady
Violet. This girl was as different from the run of Americans with whom
she occasionally rubbed shoulders on their native continent as chalk is
different from cheese. And among her compatriots whom Lady Violet knew
in London, not one in the least resembled her.
Obviously her general education was limited, but this girl was as
live as a fire. She was very original; and her decidedly pretty head
was full of ideas. Even if in the main they were directed to her own
advancement, why blame her? But it was her way of saying things that
appealed most strongly to this amateur of the human comedy. Lady Violet
was a connoisseur, who in her spare time collected odd types of her
fellow creatures, as other people collect postage stamps, foreign
coins, pewter or old Sheffield. Moreover, having a keen, if rather
freakish sense of fun, it pleased her sometimes to play one “type” off
against another.
All the same, there was no young woman in London society more genuinely
popular. If she could be, and frequently was, mischievous in a subtle
way, she had a knack of helping lame dogs over stiles. Providing she
liked a person, and she sometimes liked them for the oddest reasons,
such as the shape of their ears, or because their toes turned in, she
would take quite a lot of trouble over them.
This afternoon the funny little American she had met at the Carlton
ten days ago, and who now graced her “collection” as if she had been a
scarce butterfly with rare and attractive markings, was sending up a
rather pathetic social S. O. S. Miss Du Rance, who was really pretty if
she wouldn’t “make up” and wear the wrong sort of clothes, had already
let her in on the ground floor in the matter of confidences. The girl
had, it seemed, ambitions, which she had precious little chance of
being able to gratify.
Lady Violet, however, did not tell her so. She was much too
good-hearted for that. From the first she had been attracted by the
child. Something looked out of those good grey eyes. Already this new
friend’s worldly wise brain was at work.
Mame was encouraged to prattle artlessly on. There was no display of
vulgar curiosity; but in the most natural way Lady Violet probed the
secrets of her past. The life on the farm, four miles from Cowbarn,
Iowa; the burning of the midnight candle to fit herself for the larger
life; the good Miss Jenkins; the secret study of stenography; the
escape to the _Independent_ office; the arrival of Aunt Lou’s legacy;
the flight to New York; the police raid; the trip to Europe--warmed by
sympathy, Mame told the story of her life. And as told in the vivid
native idiom, which, to the dweller in another world, had all the
charm of novelty, the story almost became an epic.
Yes, she was worth helping, this rather pathetic child. Lady Violet
fixed on her again that masked look which had a strange power of seeing
through the most complex people. But this little go-getter--her own
priceless word--was not complex at all. She was perfectly easy to read.
And yet so interesting. In fact she was something new.
Miss Du Rance had just told the story of her life, when a tall,
slightly faded-looking woman of forty came into the room.
The first thing Mame noted about this lady was the way in which her
hair was done. She must have a peach of a maid. It was turning a most
becoming shade of grey; it was abundant and it had an air of great
elegance. That indeed was the quality which dominated the lady herself;
an air of great elegance. She was subdued in dress and in manner; she
moved like some extremely dignified and well-nurtured cat; yet there
was nothing about her of that passive hostility which caused Mame so
actively to dislike the Tabbies of Fotheringay House.
Lady Violet addressed this rather formal yet most agreeable dame as
Cousin Edith. “Let me introduce Miss Du Rance of Chicago,” she said to
Cousin Edith with a pensive smile.
Mame returned vigorously Cousin Edith’s bow and then offered an equally
vigorous hand. “Very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” said Mame cordially.
Her democratic spirit was a little doubtful of the “ma’am” but she was
using company manners, so it seemed all right.
“Of Chicago,” however, troubled her. “Cowbarn, Iowa.” She hastened with
a frank smile to correct Lady Violet.
“Near Chicago,” said the hostess _sotto voce_ to Cousin Edith. For
some reason, which was not at all clear, she seemed determined to
locate Mame in a region wherein Mame had no desire to be located. Iowa
was good enough for her, but evidently in London society Illinois was
considered more Chick.
She took quite a liking to Cousin Edith. That lady had a nice flow of
talk that was very amiable and kindly. Unlike Lady Violet’s it was not
syncopated nor was it full of slang; it had no witty twists and turns,
but it was well worth listening to. Cousin Edith appeared to have seen
and known quite a lot, but she lacked Lady Violet’s force and humour
and her modern touch. All the same she was light in hand and had the
happy knack of meeting people a little more than half way, which could
not be said for most Britishers.
Mame was getting on famously with Cousin Edith when a Mrs. Creber
Newsum was announced. Mrs. Creber Newsum was tall, blonde, very
blue-eyed, very fragile. Distinction seemed to stand off from her
manner in festoons. Like her fair hair and her fine chin her fluting
voice seemed to be raised a shade too high.
The moment Mrs. Creber Newsum entered the room, and even before being
introduced to her, which she almost immediately was, Mame instinctively
knew this was a kind of dame of whom she would do well to be careful.
She had a subtle feeling before a word had passed between them that
the newcomer was one of her own countrywomen. And in that case she
shrewdly suspected that as far as Mrs. Creber Newsum was concerned she
had better go slow. By now Miss Amethyst Du Rance knew enough of Europe
to be aware that in the eyes of a Mrs. Creber Newsum, with her Fifth
Avenue, Long Island, flat-in-Paris, villa-in-Italy style, she was very
much, at present, “the wrong kind of American.”
However, she was not always going to be the wrong kind of American. But
for the moment, knowing as much as she did, and being able to guess at
what she didn’t, she intended to imitate the motions of a character
famous in the Bible. She would walk delicately.
Miss Du Rance was not flustered at all. She had been through the fire
at Clanborough House, she had learned a few things and she had the
moral support of an influential and an able friend. Just how able that
friend was she discovered within the next two minutes.
“Mrs. Creber Newsum,” said Lady Violet, in a voice that sounded quite
impressive, “this is my friend Miss Du Rance of Chicago.”
It was odd, but Mame perceived in a flash the tactical value of the
“Chicago.” Somehow it seemed to account for her in a general way,
whereas the Iowa, let alone the Cowbarn, might have accounted for her
much too definitely, at any rate in the eyes of Mrs. Creber Newsum.
Beyond a doubt, Lady Violet was clever.
Mrs. Creber Newsum glanced at Mame, more in sorrow than in anger. Then
she offered her hand as if it rather hurt her to do so; and then she
withdrew it as if the touch of Mame’s fingers was a shade more than her
spotless gloves could bear. Mame felt that her compatriot--she couldn’t
tell exactly how she knew Mrs. Creber Newsum was an American, but she
would have bet a hundred and fifty dollars that she was--was slightly
overdoing the aristocracy racket. On Fifth Avenue it might have seemed
all right; but it was so consciously “high-grade,” that it had a
tendency to get on the nerves of common folks.
The introduction had just been got over with real queenliness on the
one side--Mrs. Creber Newsum simply couldn’t help being queenly--and
real discretion on the other, when Mame surprised the broadest smile
she had yet seen on the averted face of Lady Violet. Plainly her friend
was enjoying the moment hugely. What there was to be secretly so amused
about, Mame couldn’t guess. But the smile of Lady Violet set her
thinking.
Mrs. Creber Newsum sat slowly on an ottoman, about as far from her
small compatriot as she could conveniently get. And then she said in a
rather high but agreeable voice, although much troubled with culture,
“Have you been in England long, Miss Du Rance?”
“Five weeks and four days,” said Mame.
“Five weeks and four days,” Mrs. Creber Newsum repeated softly. “An
interesting experience for you, is it not?”
Mame was not to be drawn. The conversation as far as it touched Mrs.
Creber Newsum and herself seemed to languish. But neither Cousin Edith
nor Lady Violet was the kind of person who would permit it to languish
generally. They had it well in hand. It could be wound up and set going
just as soon as they chose, but Lady Violet, at least, wanted to see
what the two Americans would make of each other.
As a matter of fact she knew. And there was no need to wait for her
prescience to be demonstrated. But for some reason, these differing
types greatly amused her. Perhaps she rather wanted to see what the
homely little barnyard chick would make of the superlative cosmopolitan
peacock. She knew exactly what the peacock had made already of the
little chick.
Mame’s quick brain was busy even if her tongue was inert. She would
get no good of Mrs. Creber Newsum and she must be particularly careful
that the high-flyer did not call her bluff. As she sat listening to
the light and clever talk of these new friends she determined from now
on to watch her step with unceasing vigilance. The chances that were
coming her way must be stepping stones to her great ambition; but she
must expect no help and no mercy from the Mrs. Creber Newsums of the
earth.
Cousin Edith soon began to address mild and non-committal nothings to
Miss Du Rance, to ease, as it were, Chicago’s burden in the presence
of Cosmopolis. Mame felt humbly grateful. Cousin Edith was a kind of
natural dear. And Mame was sure she had as much culture as Mrs. Creber
Newsum, but that she preferred to conceal it rather than to cut a dash.
But what really interested Miss Du Rance was not the talk of Cousin
Edith. She was responsive and polite, but one ear was kept open for the
cavortings of Mrs. Creber Newsum and Lady Violet.
It was wonderful, the assurance and the calm with which Lady Violet lit
on highbrow subjects. Duse, Cæsar Franck, Tchehov, Marcel Proust, all
that kind of dope; she could take Mrs. Creber Newsum over the course
without putting a foot wrong. She had no airs about it either. But she
could ladle out highbrow eyewash till the cows came home, merely as a
matter of course. Mrs. Creber Newsum, however, seemed to inflate. Mame
resolved to study this kind of cross talk. A useful trick to learn.
Pretty soon other folks began to pile in and, from Mame’s viewpoint,
things grew still more entertaining. Lady So-and-So; Mrs. This; Miss
That. She did not always catch their names, or at least her memory,
usually so good, was not always able to retain them. Some she was
introduced to; some she was not; but no matter whom she found herself
up against, she was careful to maintain a Biblical style of progress.
Most of these dashers thought her dull, no doubt. Let them. She must
play for safety. Some of them eyed her curiously; they couldn’t quite
conceal a “Hulloa-what-are-you-doing-here?” sort of look. But the
fairly large room began to fill. And the fuller it became the more at
ease grew Mame. There was a better chance to take cover.
This crowd was worth observing at close range. Mame did not let the
opportunity slip. The proper study of mankind is man. According to the
office calendar some wise guy had pulled that in the reign of Queen
Anne. Mame had already developed considerable powers in that direction.
She was getting quite expert at sizing folks up.
Socially speaking, she now divided her fellow creatures into two
classes. Class A, on the level. Class B, four-flushers. Nothing had
surprised her more in New York than the prevalence of Class B. They
were everywhere. And, as far as she was concerned, they were highly
dangerous people. One of their chief delights was to call the bluff of
their competitors.
London also suffered from Class B. It was less dominant, however, than
on the other side of the Atlantic. And for the most part, in London
they were four-flushers with a difference. They saw bigger, they
carried more sail; perhaps they were older hands at the game.
Even Lady Violet’s smart drawing room was not wholly free of Class
B. As the place got fuller and fuller and the tea and cake began to
circulate, the other sex made a bit of a show. Mame welcomed them as a
pleasing diversion. She gave far less thought to men as a rule than
she gave to women. Somehow she felt that she had so much less to fear
from them.
London, she had heard, was rather famous for its men. They were said
to wear their clothes better than any in the world. That might be so.
But among those who blew in upon 16b Half Moon Street this afternoon
were one or two whose clothes ought not to have been worn by anybody.
Artistic johns, no doubt. One in particular, large, shambling,
big-kneed, loud-voiced, had a regular Fifth of November appearance.
Mame was so struck by him that she asked her right-hand neighbour, a
very knowledgeable girl who unmistakably belonged to Class A and who
was full of natural elegance, who he was.
“Shelton France Mackelland, the Canadian poet,” the girl informed her.
“A Canuck, is he?” She wondered how he dared.
“Don’t you know his famous volume of poems, _The Old Shack_?”
Mame confessed that she did not.
“I adore them myself.” The girl, who was very pretty and quite simple,
spoke with an unpremeditated innocence that Mame liked but deplored.
Class A girls of this sort made it altogether too easy for Class B
people to get away with it.
“No use for Canucks.” Mame looked towards Shelton France Mackelland
with open hostility. “They are the worst kind of tinhorns mostly.”
Sweetly and gravely the girl begged Mame’s pardon. This odd, fierce,
untamed little American was using what to her was a foreign language.
Before Mame could fully expound what her attitude was towards the
Canucks of the earth, a young man of a different sort bore down
upon her with a plate of cakes. He was the identical Bill whom Mame
had admired so much when she had first seen him two weeks ago. This
afternoon he was looking nicer than ever. A picture of health and
comeliness, he was doing enormous credit to his tailor. And his manners
were most engagingly frank. Even in the eyes of an observer severely
democratic they hadn’t a suspicion of “lugs.”
“I like that one,” said Mame, after the bearer of the cakes had passed
on. She bit a piece out of her recently acquired bun and found brandy
in the heart of it. “If I was falling in love I’ll say he’d be the baby
for me.”
The friendly neighbour glanced at her in mild but furtive wonder.
“I didn’t get his name?” said Mame interrogatively.
“That’s my cousin Kidderminster.”
“Kidderminster, is it?” In what connection had she heard the name? She
suddenly remembered. “I guess he’s some relation of Lady Violet’s.”
“Her brother.”
For a reason Mame could not have explained her heart gave a little
jump. “That’s bully,” she murmured. And then she went on, less perhaps
from a desire for information than to divert attention from her own
enthusiasm. “Then you, I s’pose, are Lady Violet’s cousin?”
“One of many,” said the girl. “Violet has any amount of cousins. Simply
heaps and heaps of relations.”
“Plenty of influence?” The true meaning of that mystic word was now
being revealed to Mame.
“Yes, in a way, one would say she had. But she’s got any amount of
brains, as well, you know.”
Mame was quite sure that Lady Violet had.
“Everybody thinks her so clever.”
“Earns a big income, I guess.”
“I believe so. And perfectly wonderful how she gets about. Goes
everywhere. Knows everybody.”
“Pulls the big stuff.”
“I beg your pardon.” A simple sort of tulip, this girl.
“Kinda got all the strings in her hand,” said Mame, trying to be lucid.
“Most of them, I think. Anyway she has a tremendously good time.”
The folks began to get a bit thinner, to diminish by twos and threes.
Mame, having had a most entertaining afternoon, decided not to outstay
her welcome. She rose and crossed to Lady Violet, who was talking very
quick French to a foreign-looking bozo, with an imperial and a braided
jacket, who stood peering over his teacup into her eyes.
“Can I come and see you again?” Mame offered a white glove, in which
she took considerable pride, at the precise angle she had discovered to
be fashionable.
“Oh, please, please!” Lady Violet spoke as if she really meant it. “And
quite soon, you know.”
The cheery warmth of the words left Mame with a feeling that she was
taking leave of a real friend.