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.