Ways and means were still a problem for Mame. The one hundred and fifty
dollars, which had dropped like manna from the sky, were not going to
carry her far. One cannot live on the air of London, England, solid
though it may be compared with the champagne of New York. Even in that
exhilarating climate one needs plenty of “dough” to carry on from day
to day.
Miss Du Rance was by way of having quite a lot of success. Socially she
had gone much further than she could have dared to hope in so short a
time. Her foot was now planted well on the ladder, but she must take
care lest she climb to an altitude a little too dizzy. It is so easy to
lose one’s head.
Shrewd to the bone, a true daughter of the Middle West, she felt she
had better call a halt and look around. It had been a rare bit of luck
to strike these friends, but the margin of her resources was so narrow
that unless she could add to it pretty soon, and also find other means
of income, she would not be able to stay the course.
The situation was again growing serious. Those few providential dollars
were already melting like snow. True, she now felt entitled to count
on another draft from Elmer P. at an early date, but precisely when
it would come she didn’t know. Besides even when it arrived it was not
going to last very long. No, it would be wrong to shirk the fact that
the margin upon which she was working was uncomfortably small.
This fact came directly home to her, when, about three days after her
walk with Bill along Piccadilly, she received a hurried line from Lady
Violet, suggesting that on that day week they should make up a party
for tea and dancing at the Orient Club, Knightsbridge. If Miss Du Rance
cared for that sort of thing she might find it rather amusing.
As it happened few girls cared more for it than Mame. Even in her
primitive Cowbarn epoch, an occasional dance with the best and
brightest of the boys had been her favourite, indeed her only, means
of recreation. Moreover, in New York a certain amount of time had been
given to the cultivation of the art. She had always felt it to be
within the range of her lightly tripping toes to tread a measure in
the best company. Dancing harmonised with her vitality and her love of
movement. Had she not seriously considered having herself trained for
vaudeville?
Keen as she was to fall in with Lady Violet’s suggestion, she was
also wise enough to scent the peril. One way or another it would mean
further expenditure that she really could not afford. The position was
rather maddening. Her future, as she saw it, as she had planned it, as
she had fully determined that it should be, lay with these influential
and attractive folks. Perhaps she was a little snob, but this sort of
life quite spoiled one for any other.
Still, money was needed to live it. Money was needed all the time.
Unless one knew how to get it regularly and in good sums one would
surely be wise to turn aside from the lures of English society.
Instinctively Mame felt that she ought not to accept Lady Violet’s
invitation. She would be getting into deeper water than she cared
about. Delightful as the sun and the ripples were upon the waves, she
was nothing like a strong enough swimmer at present to trust herself to
that treacherous sea. Yet, alas, there was a second instinct, equally
powerful, which recalled a favourite text in the office calendar: There
is a Tide.
That fly-marked old calendar had a wonderful knack of turning out to be
true. There was a Tide, not a doubt of it. And Mame Durrance was poised
upon the top, but so precariously that if she didn’t watch out she
would find herself in difficulties; for at present she had not learned
to swim beyond a very few strokes. But she was there all right, on the
crest of the wave. And somehow she felt the power rising within her to
breast those waters. She would sure be the worst fool alive if now she
went back on her chances.