At the last moment, almost, came the much-desired invitation to
Dunkeldie. Lady Violet having heard that Mabel, her recently married
sister, had decided not to go north this year, although expected to
do so as usual, took the news in person to the ducal yacht as soon as
it entered the harbour. As the astute Violet foresaw, Aunt Emily felt
herself to be in rather a hat. It was a bit late in the day. Whoever
filled the vacancy would do so now as an obvious substitute. Nobody
likes to be that, as her niece was careful to point out. But her clever
little American friend who was seeing as much of Britain as she could
in the shortest possible time was likely to have no feelings of that
kind. And everybody found her such fun!
It was always Aunt Emily’s instinct to take the line of least
resistance, particularly where the enterprising Violet was concerned.
Dear Violet had her peculiarities, but she was a general favourite. She
was so vivacious, so modern, so good-natured. You couldn’t help liking
Violet.
On this occasion Violet did not disdain a tactical _coup_. While
Aunt Emily wavered she presented a kind of ultimatum. She had taken
it so much for granted that Miss Du Rance would be included in the
invitation to Dunkeldie, that she was afraid she could not go north
without her little friend. This rather “put it up” to Aunt Emily. But
as the clever niece surmised, her own position with Clanborough House
was strong enough “to try it on.”
Aunt Emily had really no very strong feelings in the matter, even
if some of her friends appeared to have. There was no harm in the
little American beyond the fact, as one of the most influential of
her countrywomen had quaintly expressed it, “she was as common as pig
tracks.” But as the unconventional Violet pointed out, it all came down
to whether one cared for a little garlic in the salad. Most people,
nowadays, liked a dash of pungency. Even the most fastidious were in
favour of a touch of spice in the social dish. There was no harm in
Miss Du Rance. Her only crime, even in the eyes of her critics, was
that she was so very amusing. She would certainly add to the gaiety of
Dunkeldie and that was all that mattered.
Face to face with dear Violet, Aunt Emily did not take long to yield.
Of late years this clever niece had been the life and soul of the
party; her absence would now make a gap that nothing could fill.
Besides, in some ways Miss Du Rance was the obvious solution. If she
didn’t really mind being asked at such short notice she would be made
very welcome at Dunkeldie.
The invitation was really obtained by _force majeure_. But none the
less it came in its way as a triumph. Yet it was not so much a triumph
for Miss Du Rance as for her friend and sponsor. Mame was still rather
unsophisticated. Certain social nuances meant less to her than to
Celimene. One set of “the folks” was much like another; so long as
she could keep getting about to this function and that, she would not
worry. But Lady Violet had made her protégée’s cause so much her own
that she felt she could hardly afford to have her publicly slighted.
Odd, was it not, that dear Violet should be so determined to run
the funny little American? But Violet was like that. She was always
“running” someone. And as a rule the someone was more or less
impossible. One year it was a Russian dancer, another a cubist painter,
or a Polish musician. She seemed to take up queer people and develop
a passion for them as others did for pekes or bulldogs or chows or
angoras. Dear Violet’s trouble was too many brains. Her vein of
freakishness sought expression in the freakishness of the world at
large.
Dunkeldie, as usual, was a huge success. The weather was perfect; the
sport excellent. But the sport hardly mattered so much, even if it were
heresy to say so, as in less attractive places. It was the people who
gathered there who counted most. Year by year they came to Dunkeldie to
have a good time. Along with some of the finest shots in the kingdom
were others who, if they did not add to the prowess of the field, were
highly accomplished in the arts and the graces of life.
For Mame this was a fresh phase of existence. Her few days at Cowes
aboard the _Excelsior_ had done something to prepare her for the
freedom of the moors; but Dunkeldie itself, gorgeously set in the lee
of the Grampians, was something new. Dunkeldie was beyond her dreams.
On the August evening she motored with Lady Violet from the train at
Inverauchty, which was fifteen miles away and the nearest railway
station, and saw the great house of stone nestling against a background
of mountain and forest and the heather billowing around it, she gave a
little gasp. In rich and mysterious beauty it was a place of faëry. She
had read of such homes, she had seen them pictured on the screen, but
even in her most fanciful moments she hardly expected to find them in
her life good and real.
When they wound uphill, in rather precipitous half circles, that last
astonishing mile to the proud keep of Dunkeldie, and drew up in the
golden light before the low lintel of the main entrance to the Castle,
the first person to welcome them was Bill. He stood in the doorway
looking superbly handsome in a sporran and kilt. The place itself was a
thing of sheer beauty and somehow Bill matched it.
At the sight of him Mame’s heart began to dance. He sent a loud
who-whoop echoing among the angles of the stone walls and again danced
her heart. And when he flung open the door of their car, before the
douce footman could get down from his box, or another of his like could
spring out from the portico, her blood thrilled. There seemed to be
magic in the air.
From the very hour of her arrival this feeling of magic in the air was
upon Mame. And all the wonderful days she was at Dunkeldie it never
left her. The house itself was an embodied tradition. Its glamour was
haunted by the spirit of place. That ancient roof-tree held strange
secrets; and nothing so far in Mame’s life had quite prepared her for
them.
The train had reached Inverauchty an hour and a quarter late, as the
trains in that part of the world had a way of doing. Dinner was due in
twenty minutes. Therefore it was a bit of a scurry to change. Bill’s
only accomplishment, at least to which he owned, although other people
rated him a pretty useful shot and a fairly straight rider to hounds,
was that he could “dress” in ten minutes; but neither his sister nor
Miss Du Rance, even with Davis to help them, was quite up to that.
Still in a quarter of an hour Celimene was looking her gay and cool and
distinguished self in an old and plain black gown. It took Mame longer
than that to don a frock rather more pictorial; but with Davis “to do
her up,” she was looking presentable if not quite as Chick as she could
have desired by the time dinner was announced.
The guests, to the number of a round twenty, assembled in the armoury,
a sort of large hall whose ancient usage had been agreeably softened
by modern comfort. It sounded dull, dismal, draughty, dour; as a fact
it was quite cosy; and it had the advantage of being cool in summer,
warm in winter. This evening at the end of August, its temperature was
a happy medium. Whatever chill there was in it, due to the lengthening
of the shadows around the mullioned windows, was merged in a general
atmosphere of cheery good will.
Even Uncle John and Aunt Emily, whose long suit was not exactly
cheeriness, at any rate of a wildly festive kind, made a heroic effort
this evening to assume that virtue. Nothing could have exceeded the
kindness of their welcome. If they did not pretend to intellectual
brilliance, and they had to be on their guard lest a sense of dignity
was a little overdone, they were very sensible, well-meaning people;
and if you were invited to their board they laid themselves out to see
that you had a good time.
Mame soon felt at home. The day’s journey had been long and tedious,
but with the resiliency of youth she was able thoroughly to enjoy her
dinner. Bill sat one side of her and a very distinguished politician
who knew America and had a keen appreciation of all things American,
sat the other. Conversation flowed. Good stories crossed the dinner
table. A piper came skirling round the chairs of the guests. Wine, wit
and good fellowship circulated freely. Mame surrendered to the feeling
that this was life.
She took her sponsor’s advice and went to bed early and in that
wonderful highland air slept as never before unless it was in the early
days on the farm after many hours of drudgery. It was a dreamless and
renewing sleep and was only terminated when a sonsy lassie set some
tea and bread and butter by the side of her bed, unbolted the large
shutters and let in the sun.
Five minutes later when Mame sprang out of bed and gazed through the
window upon the glory of the scene, the first object to catch her eye
was a young man on the fair green below. He was diligently coaxing a
small ball into an invisible hole by means of an odd piece of iron.
Mame’s education, as yet, had not included the game of golf. But she
knew it when she saw it. And as she stood watching this player she felt
the time had come to develop her knowledge of a science peculiarly
Scottish.
The player was Bill. There was no escaping him. Early and late he
seemed to be always in the centre of the picture. But why should one
wish to escape him? Who could be fairer to look upon? A sight for sair
eyne, as these quaint Scots said, this tall, brown, upstanding young
fellow.
By the time Mame was through the business of dressing, she had made up
her mind to repair one more gap in her education. She must learn to
play golf. And Bill it should be to give her a first lesson. A believer
in the definite object, and a mark to aim at in the life of each day,
she was as confirmed a go-getter in the Scotch highlands as on Broadway
or in the Strand.
Quickly she swallowed her porridge and bacon and sought the diligent
Bill. He was still putting. In his way he also was a go-getter. For the
time being, at any rate, he was the slave of ambition. Twelve was his
present handicap, yet he saw no reason why concentration on the short
game should not soon reduce it to a more seemly nine.
With the genial forthcomingness that Mame considered to be not the
least of Bill’s merits, he made his ambition known to her as soon as
she came upon the scene. And she, with the engaging frankness which in
his eyes was so attractive, promptly confided her own resolve. No hour
like the present, declared Bill. The stalkers would not seek the hills
before noon. Plenty of time for a lesson.
“I’ll borrow a club off Gwendolen Childwick. Mine are a bit heavy
for you. Then I’ll show you the swing. In this game the swing is
everything; and it’s jolly difficult.”
Mame was sure that it was. With a merry eye she watched Simplicitas
stroll away in quest of Gwendolen Childwick’s bag. Gwendolen was a
“scratch” player. Her bag was simply bulging with drivers and brassies,
not to mention irons and spoons.
If Bill was not, broadly speaking, one of nature’s most solid chunks of
wisdom, that is to say he was a most deliciously tactless young man, he
was yet brimming over with other qualities. And these greatly commended
themselves to Mame. She broke into a low carol of pure joy when the
sweet boob returned in about five minutes with Miss Childwick’s
second-best driver.
“Didn’t seem very keen on lending it, for some reason.” He proceeded
to lock Mame’s fingers round the leather in the Vardon grip. “Worst of
these classic gowfers is they are so fearfully particular about their
clubs. But we can’t possibly do this one any harm, can we?”
Mame was sure they could not.
They spent a profitable hour. This pretty and clever Miss Du Rance was
a very apt pupil. Bill was convinced the root of the matter was in her.
These Americans had a wonderful faculty for picking up games. And their
minds were so fresh and so cute. Most amusing che-ild he had met in a
month of Sundays. The things she said and the way she said them! Yet
learning, mark you, to swing that bally old club better and better all
the time.
“You’ll make a player,” was Bill’s pronouncement at the end of the
lesson. “If you stick to it.”
Rejoined little Miss Chicago: “I’ll stick to it like a sick kitten to a
warm brick. Once I take a thing up I just hold on by my teeth. Do you
think you can give me another lesson to-morrow, at the same time and
the same place?”
“I’ll be delighted.” And Simplicitas looked as if he meant it.