There is a tide

by J. C. Snaith

Lady Violet, as it chanced, was in a hurry to dress for the play and an early dinner in the entourage of a newspaper magnate; and Mame, who had no engagement of her own that evening, undertook personally to register the parcel, so that there should be no mistake about its getting to New York.

Alone with the parcel, alas, the devil tempted her. Why, oh why, throw away such a chance as might never recur! She turned to the wastepaper basket, fished out the discarded item and re-read it wistfully. Beyond a doubt it was the very bit of sugar they most wanted. As she scanned her native skies there was not an editor in New York who would not fall for that piece of news. Hardening her heart, she sat down at the typewriter, made a fair copy of the crumpled script, and then, breaking the sealed packet, she inserted the forbidden “par” and sealed it again.

Even in the midst of the rash act, conscience threatened Mame with whips and scorpions to follow. But, after all, it was an equal partnership; she knew better than her friend what the effect would be in New York. Besides, why make a mountain out of a molehill? Even if there was a shine over this spicy par, they would no doubt be able to survive it. In any case there was likely to be very substantial compensation. For in Mame’s view that tit-bit would clinch the matter. It had a real chance of putting them in solid with the most worth-while newspapers in America. They would be able to get a fine contract for their weekly cable and then could snap their fingers at all the moguls between Washington and Windsor.

Once the fell deed was done, however, and the parcel dispatched from the post office in Dover Street, Mame’s conscience got busy. It came down upon her like a ton of bricks. She had done a thing that even complete success would not justify; she had gone back on her word; she had been disloyal; she had proved that she was simply not to be trusted. And if the game went wrong, and Lady Violet had shown conclusively that it was a highly dangerous one to play, most likely the too-clever Miss Du Rance would get it where the chicken got the axe.

Mame was not in the habit of repenting her actions. Long ago she had steeled her will against a pernicious harbouring of regrets; but she had some pretty bad moments to pass through. Retribution visited her pillow nightly.

Never in her life had she been lacking in courage, moral or physical. But now came signs of a yellow streak. She dare not tell Lady Violet what she had done. With all her genuine kindness, her gay insouciance, Mame was yet sure that she was not a kind of girl who could be trifled with. And look at the matter in what light one would, this trick was not quite on the level.

“Serve me right if I’m fired,” was Mame’s constant thought. “I ought to have put myself in solid before I tried these fancy strokes. And it isn’t Class, anyway.”

However, there it was. Even if a greedy little puss in her haste to get at the cream had upset the jug altogether, it was no use miaouing. All the same it took some of the warmth out of the sunshine of the Green Park; the band of the Pinks did not seem to play ragtime quite so rhythmically; the excitements of the new orientation were less stimulating than they should have been; the hope of an invitation to the Royal garden party less exhilarating; the world hardly so full of colour and romance as the circumstances warranted.

Had it not been for this large fly in the ointment, the new life would have been a thing of joy. The times were stirring. Luncheons, matinées, dinners, dances, parties crowded one another. Lady Violet, indeed, had influence. On each occasion, it is true, Mame had more or less to run the gauntlet, but she had the spirit of a fighter and she bore herself right gallantly.

Each week she got prettier; each week her confidence grew. Like all the rest of her countrywomen, of whatever grade they belonged, she had a very keen social sense. In a time surprisingly short, as viewed by the more conservative and less daring Briton, she began to get the hang of things. With just a little help, she soon learned what could be worn and what could not, what could be said and what could not, what could be done and what could not.