Mame fetched a deep breath. “Shouldn’t let anything annoy you, honey, if I were you. ’Tisn’t worth getting worried over anything, not this time on earth.”
“Well, I am annoyed. And it’s simply no use pretending. This new firm of ours, Mame et Celimene, called Clio for short, has just missed the biggest scoop of its young life.”
“I don’t get you.” Mame’s frown was portentous. She was doing her best, all the same, in a quiet fashion, to adjust her agile mind to the rather unexpected turn the conversation was taking.
“Don’t you see, my child, if we hadn’t been so frightfully conscientious, we should have been a clear fortnight ahead of everybody. Think what a reputation we should have made in New York on the strength of it. If only we had kept that rumour in, and damned the consequences of there being nothing in it, now that it is officially confirmed we should be on velvet with every editor from New York City to Tombstone, Texas.”
“Whose fault was that, honey?” Mame’s voice was very soft and beguiling.
“Not yours, my dear.” Lady Violet was ruefully candid. “And never again will I be so high principled. When I am it will be time to quit international journalism.”
“Yes, that’s where you got off.”
When Mame had time to think over the situation at her leisure, one factor in it appeared to be sticking out a mile. The case was altered; at least in some degree. No trouble need be looked for now, at all events from high places; and as Lady Violet was wearing sackcloth already for her own excess of scruple, it was quite likely that, even when the full truth came out, Mame would have nothing to fear. Indeed, the whole business had now begun to look much healthier. If the packet to New York had not miscarried, certain developments of a very pleasing kind were bound to ensue. And if she played her cards adroitly with Lady Violet, her lapse might hope to be forgiven.
Still, at this stage, it just didn’t do to be too sure.