It was a pity that she had already done one of the things she ought not to have done. Otherwise everything in the garden would have been just lovely.
Even as it was the garden was real nice. She promised to become a favourite at some of the smart houses within a stone’s throw of her present abode. At the Orient Dance Club, in particular, she was un succès fou. Her style of moving was admired, her sayings were quoted; her personality, which seemed to develop and make more impact each time she appeared, began to wax in the public eye.
She was no longer the small-town rustic. Nor was she the struggling New York journalist who had to gaze wistfully at both sides of a dollar. The rôle of Miss Du Rance of Chicago suited her infinitely better. Even Miss Childwick, by nature a trifle supercilious, poor dear, had to defer to her in certain ways. Miss Du Rance was so much quicker in the uptake, so much more forceful, altogether so much cleverer. A slightly strained look began to appear in the eyes of Miss Three Ply Flannelette whenever her name was mentioned.
All the same, as Mame foresaw, the pace was a bit too hot to last. Something was due to happen. She was rather a fatalist by nature; and having gone out of her way to find trouble, she fully expected to fetch up pretty soon against a round nugget.
Why had she not let well alone! The truth was bound, sooner or later, to come out. Every time Davis, who had the look of a baby-eating ogress, came into the room with letters on a silver tray, Mame had a presentiment that some old Court fool of an ambassador had written to complain. And when that happened, as conscience said it sure must, Lady Violet being the kind of girl she was, there would be ructions.
To make things worse, although nearly four weeks had flown since “Clio’s” specimen copy had been urgently posted to New York, no word had yet been received on the subject. What did Elmer P. think of that ballon d’essai? as Lady Violet called it. What a fool Miss Slick Puss would look if, even with a bit of illicit spice stuck in the middle of her cake, Clio was turned down after all!
XXVII
“DAMN!” said Lady Violet.
The tone of annoyance caused Mame to glance up from her typewriter, rather apprehensively, towards her friend. Conscience makes cowards of us all. Lady Violet was frowning over something in the morning paper. And the long-expected blow was overdue.
“The cat’s out of the bag. How disgusting.”