Things went from bad to worse between Mame and Miss Childwick. The
Three Ply Lady had a clever and spiteful tongue under a proud reserve
of manner, a discovery made by Miss Du Rance when quite by accident
she overheard her small self being dissected by certain members of the
house party.
“Violet will soon tire of her.”
Tire of whom? That was the question for Mame, as those significant
words stole on her keen ears. This conversation followed an enjoyable
_al fresco_ luncheon on the hillside. The guns had gone on while the
ladies rested a little from the heat of the day. Mame had got her
back to a shady fir which concealed her effectively and was composing
herself for a siesta when she caught those words proceeding from the
bole of an adjacent tree.
“She reminds me of an opossum.” It was the aristocratic voice of Mrs.
Prance Horton, whose first name was Gloria. “Don’t you know, one of
those queer little animals who live in the gum trees of the South. They
can be taught all sorts of monkey tricks, but are never really tame.
It seems to me that dear Violet is teaching this opossum all sorts of
tricks, but I don’t think she’ll be amused with her long.”
“Why don’t you?” That was the voice of Miss Childwick. It sounded
interested and alert.
“A little too dangerous, my dear. Besides, dear Violet soon tires of
her toys. Don’t you remember the young cubist she ran and the Russian
pianiste and the Carmanian princess who turned out to be a well-known
impropriety? She gives all her toys their heads, for a time, then she
drops them and they are never heard of again.”
“But as this girl is so rich--”
“That is the point. Is she so rich? Nobody has heard of her father.
Marcella Newsum doubts whether she has any money at all.”
“Violet says--”
“--she is the richest thing that ever happened. And knowing our Violet,
that may mean one thing or it may mean another. But I am none the less
convinced that if this Miss Thingamy, whoever she may be, is half as
cute as she looks, she’ll lose no time in feathering her little nest.”
“Well, I do think it is high time that Violet shed her.”
“I quite agree. And from what one gathers, Violet herself is beginning
to think so too. She is afraid the little monkey may get up to some
mischief.”
“That would not be at all surprising.” Very dry sounded the voice of
Gwendolen Childwick, as she got up with her friend and moved on.
Mame stayed where she was. Grave reflections mingled now with the
desire for a gentle siesta. The conversation she had overheard was
wounding and it was disquieting. In the last few days a suspicion had
begun to dawn upon her of a change in Lady Violet’s attitude. Her
friend was not quite so cordial or so light-hearted as she had been.
Lady Violet was known to be capricious. She had proved so in the first
place, by taking up on sight a nameless little American newspaper girl.
And if she smelt danger, as no doubt she did, Mame Du Rance might wake
one morning and find herself “in the discard.”
As Mame tramped slowly back through the heather with the other ladies
towards the proud keep of Dunkeldie her mind was working with the
vigour of a small dynamo. She must come down to cases. There was a
Tide. By hook or by crook these women meant to down her. Moreover, they
looked like doing it.
The stalkers made a day of it. Early to bed was the order. Even Bill
was tired out. But the morrow was spent in the less strenuous pursuit
of a few stray grouse. And after dinner the younger sportsmen being
game for a hop, the whole party except one or two of the seniors,
who were incorrigible bridge players, adjourned to the ballroom. The
victrola was brought into use. And after Mame had danced twice with
Bill, who had certainly improved since their first essay at the Orient
Dance Club, she suddenly began to realise that the time was now.
For one thing it was an evening of warm splendour. The harvesters’
moon was near its zenith. When in the middle of the dance the massive
windows of the ballroom were thrown open, the fair scene beyond of
woodland, lake and fell looked gloriously inviting.
As Mame stood resting from her labours, with Bill by her side, and with
the wary eyes of at least one other lady upon them, she sighed with a
certain wistfulness. “That water with the moon on it looks good to me.”
“It is good.” In the last week or two Bill had grown rather quicker in
the uptake.
“I wish I could row as well as you can.” Mame was still wistful. Bill
was a “wet bob” and already he had demonstrated to Miss Du Rance the
worth of his early training. “Any fool can.” Yet he must have known
that any fool could not.
“Such a night as it is,” sighed Mame. “I never saw a moon that size.”
Bill, poor loon, had never seen a moon that size either.
“Just dandy how those beams strike the water.” Who was the guy in the
office calendar who got away with
The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Monan’s rill?
Old man Burns, wasn’t it? Or was it old man Scott? Under the magic
spell of the moon on the water, Mame moved a little nearer. “Say, bo,”
she whispered in the tone that always amused him, yet with a little
shiver of feeling in it that in the trancéd ear of Bill was something
more than merely amusing, “that little rill out there _does_ look good
to me.”
The mobility of Bill’s mind was still nothing remarkable, but it
sufficed. “If you’ll put on a cloak or something, we might go and see
if we can find that boat we had the other day.”
“That’ll be bully,” sighed Mame softly to the moon.