MAME’S hope of developments began to materialise about noon the next day. At that hour Davis appeared with the silver tray whereon was a cablegram addressed “Durrance.”
Cool on the surface, but with trembling fingers and beating heart, Mame tore open the envelope and read:
Make no contracts with anybody until you know what I can do. Writing this mail.
Dobree.
Mame smiled sweetly upon Davis. “No answer.” Then still very calm on the surface she pressed the cable into the hand of Lady Violet.
Her partner and friend put down the novel she was studying for review purposes, and read the communication from New York through twice.
“I hope your friend Elmer P. Dobree isn’t pulling our legs,” she said perplexedly.
“Shows how little you know that baby.” Mame tried her best to dissemble a rising excitement. “Elmer P. takes life that serious he might be Abraham Lincoln at the age of twenty-nine.”
“One wishes he would express himself less cryptically.”
“You’ll be wise in time, honey,” drawled Mame slowly. Wild horses were inclined to tear her, but she had a will.