Bill looked a peach in his Guards’ tie, when at a quarter past one
he was discovered among the ferns at the Ritz. Mame had no wish to
be unduly set up with herself; nay she was too wise ever to be so,
but there was a happy sense which informed her that she was some
advertisement for the new dressmaker Gwympe. Right up to the knocker.
Right up to the nines. Everything just so. Since she had gone to live
at Half Moon Street she had developed taste in clothes. The neat coat
frock of navy blue gabardine was the last word in style; the same
applied to the dinky little hat of black velvet.
A good world, thought Mame, and Bill thought so too, as they ate
a delicate but expensive luncheon. And then at their leisure they
crossed the road and sauntered down a famous street as far as a famous
jeweller’s, where the ring was duly chosen. Being a marquis, Bill was
rather a believer in doing things well. The ring was therefore no
half-and-half affair, but the last cry of fashion, wonderfully devised
of small pearls and diamonds. It cost, no doubt, a pretty figure. What
the exact sum was remained a secret between Bill and the jeweller; and
there was no happier girl than Mame in the whole of London, when with
that token glittering on her finger she and her affianced sought again
the air of Bond Street.
They strolled down Piccadilly. In their glossy elegance, surmounted by
faces of healthy Scottish tan, they were decidedly good to look at.
Many sympathetic glances were directed upon them by the passers-by.
Some people consider that taking one day with another there is a
greater pressure of really good-looking people to the square yard
in that gentle declivity which ends at Hyde Park Corner than in any
stretch of equal length on the wide earth. The type of beauty there
represented is so honest, so upstanding, so cheerfully simple yet so
immaculately dressed. Bill and his young lady did no dishonour to
Piccadilly north side; and had they had eyes for aught but each other
they might have learned how much they were admired.
In point of fact Mame did happen to catch the eye of one little girl
remarkably like herself of a few short months ago, who with her satchel
containing heaven knew what secret ambitions, was on her way back to
her work. She was a resolute and plucky bit of a thing, withal a little
peaked and pale, a little tired and a little bored; and there was more
than mere admiration in the glance which envisaged Mame, her clothes,
and her escort. There was a wistful envy.
Yes, honey, thought Mame complacently, you do well to envy me. Just now
I am the happiest girl in London. It all seems too good to be true.
I feel sure there must be a catch in it somewhere. But the glow of
feeling continued as far as the Park gates, where they turned in, and
the day being wonderfully bright and mild, as it often is in England
towards the middle of September, they sat on garden chairs for two
solid hours at a point equi-distant between the Achilles Statue and
Knightsbridge Barracks where the Pinks were now in residence.
Those two hours of prattling to Bill and of Bill prattling to her Mame
never forgot. Her sense of everything seemed to grow richer and deeper.
Wasn’t it Hamlet or some other wise guy who had put it over in the
office calendar that heaven and earth held more things than he dreamed
of? That was exactly how Mame felt now. She could hardly believe that
she herself was she. Was this the little hick who a year ago had hardly
been ten miles away from Cowbarn, Iowa, in all her young life? Was this
the little mucker New York had laughed at? She was far too practical to
believe in fairies, but she could not deny the feeling that a spell was
at work.
Bill was charming to sit by and talk to. He made not the slightest
pretence of being a highbrow. Out of doors was his special hobby; an
easy-going sportsman was what he looked and that sure was what he was.
They discussed the immediate future; wondered when and how and where
they should tie the knot and so on. “I’ll nip along to the Button Club
presently--the box with the windows we passed just now--and write a
line to my mother. You haven’t met her yet, have you? She’s a great
dear, she really is, even if she does live all the year round in
Shropshire. I’ll tell her we want to get married as soon as we can.
And as we are both quiet, homely sort of birds we sha’n’t want much in
the way of a wedding.”
Mame was all in favour. No doubt some of the folks would want to be
there. But the quieter the better. She was never one for display. And
when Bill declared he would not mind how soon they were “spliced,” with
this also she was in cordial agreement.
These were moments of real happiness. And yet, and yet, there was just
one moment of swords. After they had sat a full two hours on the garden
chairs, absorbed in the contemplation of each other and their future
plans, they got up and made a move in the direction of tea. It could be
purchased and consumed in an open-air enclosure thoughtfully provided
by the London County Council. They were in the act of crossing the
park’s central artery when Mame’s eye was caught by a gently gliding
limousine. It was a wonderful dingus, the latest word, with chauffeur
and footman whose liveries matched the peerless machine. Two ladies
were seated inside. Both, however, appeared to be gazing ostentatiously
in another direction.
“Say, look, honey. Gwendolen Childwick. Is that her Mommer?”
Bill’s answer was a rather amused but quite indifferent yes. “Mommer
carries a bit of sail, I always think. Some of these Fifth Avenue
queens do, they say.”
“Very rich, I suppose.” Mame had an odd fluttering of the nerves for
which she couldn’t quite account.
“I forget how many millions of dollars. But something pretty tall.”
“Well, they needn’t treat us as if we were just dirt.”
“Didn’t see us.” Bill took an obvious and common-sense view of a quite
trivial incident.
“No, they just didn’t,” Mame showed venom. “But I guess they’d have
seen _you_ soon enough if I hadn’t been with you.”
In the particular circumstances it was not a very judicious thing to
have said. But even Mdlle. L’Espinasse may nod on occasion. Not, of
course, that it really mattered. Bill seemed absolutely indifferent.
If one happens to be an old-established British marquis one is apt to
take things as they come. Not his to reason why Gwendolen and her mamma
looked pointedly in an opposite direction.
Bill calmly brushed the incident aside. But Mame lacked something
of his detachment. Her gaiety grew suddenly less. That glimpse of
Gwendolen seemed to cast a shadow over the rosy prospect. Why it should
do so Mame did not know. What was Miss Three Ply Flannelette and all
her millions of dollars to either of them now?
Still there was no denying that the cup of tea did not taste so good as
Mame had expected. Perhaps it was that a faint cloud had crossed the
sun of her great happiness, although so far as the September blue was
concerned, hardly a puff was visible. Yet, in spite of the glory of the
day, a touch of autumn began to steal upon the air.
They didn’t sit long over their tea. Mame felt in duty bound to
return to the day’s rather neglected work. Bill, moreover, had a very
important letter to write to his mother. But they continued to enjoy
each other’s company all the way back along Rotten Row and up by
Hamilton Place, where Bill, after duly making an appointment at the
same highly convenient spot for the morrow, entered the Button Club to
do the deed.
Mame walked slowly along to Half Moon Street. For some reason she
was feeling more anxious, more excited than she cared about when she
entered the flat. She shed her gloves and took off her hat. And then
she went into the small room in which most of their work was done and
resolutely confronted the typewriter.
Violet had not yet come in. This was fortunate. Mame felt in need of a
respite in which to collect her thoughts. For the hour was at hand when
the dramatic announcement must be made. Violet would have to know. And
she had better know now.
There was really no reason, Mame argued with her somewhat fluttered
self, why she should worry. It was not as if she had been guilty of
anything dishonourable. Violet was not going to like it, of course.
Beyond a doubt she had set her heart on Bill marrying Gwendolen
Childwick. Still that was merely a question of Gwendolen’s dollars.
Bill obviously did not want to marry mere dollars. So from that point
of view it was doing him a simple kindness to save him from that fate.
Dollars are not everything. Besides, as one of the johns in the office
calendar had explicitly stated, In love and war all is fair. Even if
Bill’s sister took it amiss, Mame felt she need not reproach herself.
Clucking away at the typewriter, she hardened her heart. The time was
now. It was her duty to break the news before the world was a day older.
While she nursed this growing resolution she heard the front door open.
And then came Violet’s light but decided step in the hall. A minute
later when she came into the room she lacked nothing of that genial
insouciance which Mame so much admired. But as Mame glanced up she was
a little chilled by her eyes. The absence of real friendliness, which
once had verged on affection, was now complete.
“Where have you been to, my pretty maid?” The question was humorously
put. Had Violet been dying it would still have been a point of honour
with her to put things humorously.
“Getting engaged to be mar-ri-ed, please m’m, she said.” The retort was
quick. It was also bold. Mame was wise enough to appreciate that this
particular bull would have to be taken by the horns.
Violet was startled. It was not a bit of use dissembling: she was
really startled. Mame, besides, once she had begun upon the cold drawn
truth was no believer in half measures. She lifted her left hand from
the typewriter and flashed its new brilliancy before the astonished
eyes of her questioner.
“How beautiful!” There was nothing in the gay voice to betray anxiety;
all the same a slight change of colour rather gave Bill’s sister away.
“My dear, you have told me nothing of this.” Mame could not help
admiring her friend’s fortitude. “Tell me, who is the happy man?”
“Mean to say you can’t guess?” Each syllable expressed incredulity.
“How should one?”
Violet kept up the game pretty well, but the note of innocence was
pitched just a shade high. Evidently she felt it necessary to play for
time.
“Aw, shucks, honey. Cut it out.” In the stress of pure emotion Mame had
a sudden relapse to the primitive manner of her fathers. “Who do you
think it can be? The Prince of Wales?”
Violet’s heart was sinking, sinking, but she contrived to keep up the
farce. “Not a ghost of an idea.”
“Take three guesses.”
But Violet only took one. “You don’t mean to say, you....”
All pretence was at an end. Bill’s sister spoke with a slow
reproachfulness that caused Mame to feel decidedly uncomfortable. But
she determined to put the best face she could on the matter. “Why not?”
she laughed. “Do you blame me?”
“Blame you!” The note in the disciplined voice sounded odd. Violet’s
face and tone hardened in a way that Mame found rather alarming. “What
you really deserve is a thorough good beating.”
For one vital moment it looked as if this really was going to be a case
of teeth and claws. But of a sudden Violet took herself strongly in
hand.
Never in her life had it been so difficult for Violet to wear the mask
of indifference. She would have liked to have killed this marauder. But
in her heart she knew that she herself was almost wholly responsible
for a tragic situation. She had been properly punished for the levity
of her approach to certain conventions. How could she have been paid
out better for playing the fool?
However, this was not a moment for self-castigation. She must act. The
matter was so horribly serious that it hardly bore thinking about. All
the tact, all the diplomacy she could muster had now to be brought into
play.
A trying pause threatened to intensify the awkwardness of things.
And then said Violet in a tone that would keep hardening in spite of
herself: “Before you mention this to anyone, I hope you will see my
mother. Will you promise that?”
Mame did not answer at once. Her instinct was to ask Bill. Perhaps
Violet may have guessed as much. For she was not to be put off.
She made her demand again and with an urgency quite new in Mame’s
experience of her. This was a new Violet altogether.
“Please, you must promise.” The gay voice had grown coldly resolute.
“Something is due to us, you know.”
There was cause to regret those words as soon as they were uttered. For
their effect was to stiffen Mame’s feathers.
“We’ll leave that to him, I guess.” There was resentment in the answer.
Considerable strength of will was needed for Violet to withhold the
remark that Bill was a perfect fool. But she was able to fight down
the raging tempest. “I am going to telegraph for my mother to come
up at once. And in the name of our friendship I ask you to keep the
engagement a close secret until--until you have seen her.”
Mame was inclined to resent the tone. But lurking somewhere in her
crude yet complex mind was that rather unfeminine sense, fair play. She
could not quite forget, after all, how much she owed to Violet. In the
circumstances she had a right to demand this of her.
“Well, honey, I’ll do what you say,” drawled Mame with light drollery.
“But I can’t answer for that l’i’l bird.”
Lady Violet’s eyes sparkled rather grimly, but she managed to keep her
voice under control. “No, you can’t, of course.” By a mighty effort
she got back on to the plane she was determined to occupy. “But if you
can persuade him to hold his tongue for a day or two you’ll be helping
everybody--yourself not least of all.”
The depth of the argument was a point beyond Mame. She could not
pretend to be versed in the ways of the hothouse world she was about to
enter. But evidently her friend had powerful reasons. Even if she was
cutting up pretty rough there would be no harm in humouring her. Nay,
it would be wise. Besides, as Mame’s conscience was careful to insist,
it was right to make this concession. No need to stand too much on
dignity, particularly as she had a real regard for Violet and so must
do nothing to embitter their relations.
“I’ll do all _I_ can anyway to keep it a secret until I’ve seen your
Mommer,” said Mame generously.