Mame was a complex of emotions. But the one uppermost was joy. Miracles are no longer in fashion, but just now they seemed to be happening at the rate of three per ten days.
“What do you say?”
It was the kind of billet Mame had been praying for every night these seven months past. But it was not until she had performed the operation of pinching herself mentally to find out if she was truly awake, that she quietly answered: “Search me. If I’m not a champ on a Remington and don’t write as slick as you can shoot it, I’ll go back to Ioway by the next boat.”
“A go then. Cousin Edith leaves Tuesday. When can you move in? But no doubt you’ll like to think it over?”
Miss Du Rance, however, had done her thinking already. “Wednesday morning, at ten, I’ll be around at Half Moon Street with my trunk—if that’s agreeable.”
“The sooner the better.”
So there it was.
But what a funny world! Cinderella, secretly, was still in a maze. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that this new turn of the shuttle was a bit uncanny.
XXV
THE morning of Wednesday saw the punctual Mame moving into that smart apartment house 16b Half Moon Street W. In the process, alas, a hole was made in her few remaining dollars. But she was feeling pretty “good” and therefore a trifle reckless. The dream still held. Her luck continued right in. Most girls in her position would have given a year of their lives for such a chance; and she was quietly determined to make the most of it.