There is a tide

by J. C. Snaith

This aspect of the case had not occurred to Mame. It was a generous interpretation of the matter; it was, also, a diplomatic one which skilfully opened a short way out.

“No, you just hadn’t,” said Mame. “But don’t think I excuse myself. I expect,” she added wistfully, “you’ll never be able to trust me again.”

That was precisely the thought which was now troubling Lady Violet. But she had not the heart to be really hard. There was something brave and big about the child; a gameness, a never-say-die-ness which appealed to one’s sporting instincts. She was immensely worth helping. But to go into partnership with her?—that was a thorny question. One had to be able to trust blindly in such a case.

“No, I’ll say not.” Mame read her thoughts. “And after this I have a kind of hunch that I can’t trust myself.”

Lady Violet looked shrewdly at Mame. She recognised, at any rate, her own weakness, and to that extent there was hope for her. Besides, the particular circumstances need not arise a second time. The next “bonanza” that came along, if she had the least doubt about giving it publicity, let her have the good sense to keep to herself. It was hardly fair to put temptation in the way of one whose genius for news made her so susceptible.

Reflection convinced Lady Violet that this was a case for broad views. A woman who really knows the world does not ask too much of human nature. To be forewarned is to be forearmed. And the childish air of penitence was so appealing that Lady Violet was tempted to put the best face she could on the matter.

Mame, after all, was not fired. Good sense and good will on one side, repentance on the other, did much to heal the breach. The friendship continued; they were able to work together as of yore.

In some ways their respect for each other deepened. The business pact into which they now entered was almost ideal. Mame’s head, from the mundane aspect of dollars, was by far the shrewder of the two. Money meant so much more to her than it did to Lady Violet. She had learned a sharp lesson; also she was “clever as she could stick” and a splendid worker. From a business point of view she was undoubtedly a treasure.

Mame, for her part, was quick to perceive that the partner pulled her weight in the boat. Celimene was strongest wherein she lacked. Taste, style, charm, discretion were worth-while things in high-grade newspaper work. Lady Violet had all these. And still better, she had access to sources of information which the ordinary journalist could seldom tap. She was asked everywhere, known everywhere, not in her capacity of Celimene of the London Courier or Clio of the New York Monitor, but as the daughter of her late father, a distinguished man, of her much-respected mother and by virtue of many highly placed connections. Apart from her skill with a pen, she was a most accomplished diner-out; one of the few real conversationalists of either sex left in London. Witty, informed, she repeated her father’s popularity twenty years before. Powerful friends who remembered and admired him were glad to open their doors and their hearts to her.

There was every reason why the new firm should prosper. And it did. Even if New York was paying “big money” on the strength of the “scoop” in the matter of the Royal engagement, there was reason to think it would not have to regret its enterprise.