They went to the club, round the corner, for luncheon. But as they
walked towards it together, for the first time since they had come to
know one another they found themselves at a loss for words. For Mame it
was a new experience and a decidedly bitter one. Lady Violet was now
coldly polite. The touch of ice was an omen. Her companion did not like
this new aspect at all.
Everything had changed since Mame had tripped along to the post office,
half an hour ago. The sky was different or what London is pleased to
call the sky; the sound of traffic; the look of the passers-by; the
shadows cast by the houses and by the trees across the road, all were
different. A severe attack of cold feet had overtaken Miss Du Rance.
She felt like throwing herself under a bus. Her vein of fatalism
mockingly assured her that such luck as she had had could not possibly
last. There was bound to be a break. The dream was too good to be true.
Yet it was maddening to feel that she had held every card in the game
less than half an hour ago and that by an act of sheer folly she had
simply cast them to the winds.
This was a bad moment. Back swung the pendulum. Her mood reacted from
triumph to despair. After crabbing such luck as no girl of her sort
ever had, she might find herself curled up on a County Council bench
among the poor stiffs who slept nightly on the Thames Embankment.
Instead of having the ball at her feet she had now a vision of ending
up in the river.
In the course of a miserable luncheon these horrid thoughts tormented
her. She couldn’t go back to poverty and inferior people. But all that
she had, depended on the coldly polite girl opposite. And if, as now
seemed almost certain, she was forced to cancel the contract she had
just made with New York, Elmer Dobree would be furious. He, too, would
never forgive her for being made to look a fool. Big interests stood
behind him in this scheme, and if by her default he failed to put it
through, his own position would be jeopardised. He might even lose his
new job.
“Excuse me, honey.” Mame glanced at her friend across the private
table. “I don’t want food just now. I think I’ll get out into the air.”
“Aren’t you well?” The detached tone was like a knife to Mame.
“No,” she gasped. “I’m feeling pretty low. I--I--” Not trusting herself
to say more she got up abruptly and quitted the dining room.