There is a tide

by J. C. Snaith

Lady Violet had shrewdly diagnosed the state of the case. The Colony was arming itself, the Pilgrim Daughters were going out on the warpath. They could not afford to let this dangerous little feline have things all her own way. Even her dollars could not condone her. And the best and latest information was unable to say where and what those dollars were.

The Puss, it was clear, had nothing to give away. Let her bear in mind that she still had to walk delicately. Many vigilant hands were simply itching to cut her claws and to trim her fur. The odd thing was she did not appear to amuse her compatriots at all; whereas the natives of the island seemed to find her great fun. It was her dollars, of course. But then those who hail from the land where dollars grow are apt to be so much less charmed by them than the poor and rather mercenary British.

Mame continued “to get around.” The main reason, no doubt, was that her work made it necessary. But soon a certain ambition took root in her. According to the office calendar, There is a Tide. While she was about it, she would be wise to neglect no opportunity of putting herself in solid. Experience had taught her already that if you don’t take the chances that offer, your luck has a nasty trick of back-firing. Yes, if opportunity arose it would be well to be in solid.

Henley was fun. So was Ascot. So was Hurlingham. So was Lord’s. Perhaps Henley was the best fun of all. Somehow, honest Thames water seemed to take a bit of starch out of the folks. Then there were several jolly dances; and other functions, rather more formal, but still in their way pleasant.

Week by week Mame met the same crowd under slightly differing conditions. And even her sponsor owned that it was wonderful how she adjusted herself to circumstances. Under expert guidance she was now developing a sure instinct of her own. It soon began to make a real difference to her personality. Happily it didn’t take out the “pep.”

She was astonishingly quick at picking up ideas. And she was not content merely to pick them up; she had a faculty for putting them to new and entertaining uses. Lady Violet, for all her experience of two continents, had never seen anyone like her. She was a unique combination of demureness and daring. The things she said and the way she said them were beyond the compass of ordinary mortals. If you admired her dollars they went; if you didn’t admire her dollars these gems of thought rather “got the bird.”

But dollars are fascinating things. In England a mere rumour of them appears to have glamour. Since the War they have been getting so scarce, except among the wrong people. Miss Du Rance might be in that inclusive category, but then she was so adaptable. Her nationality and her youth were immensely in her favour. Dear Percy and dear Algernon, of course, would have to marry somebody; there did not seem to be enough British money to go round; it was a bore, her not having been presented, but no doubt she could be on her marriage. And even if she had no friends in America, that was more than offset by being “in” with Clanborough House.

Lady Violet, in the meantime, scented the breeze and enjoyed her wicked self hugely. Like her father, that charming and distinguished man, she had a rather unconventional view of life. Certain pomposities and pretensions gave her an impish desire to prick them. She knew that when it came down to bedrock they were rooted in mere lucre. In spite of its airs and graces, so cleverly used as a screen for the vulgar truth, the British aristocracy, what was left of it, was the most mercenary institution on the face of the earth. She did not blame it in the least. Being a woman of the world she did not blame anything for anything just now. It was one hell of a scramble with the devil hanging on to the hindmost. But if one had a sense of humour and kept one’s eyes open, it was wonderful what fun was to be got out of the charming piggy-wiggies one saw in the dear old stye.

The Canary was sacred, of course. Dear Mother had kept up her end so bravely; and Gwendolen was a good and sensible girl, though a little dull. But the minor dicky birds, the Percies and the Algernons were fair game for an early rising Puss, who had had its little tail twisted pretty severely at one time or another. As good as gold she was too, but without a sou, except what she earned by her own wits.

Meanwhile, the battle raged. Lady Violet resolved that Mame should be invited to Scotland for the deer stalking. It would crown her success. Such pluck deserved recognition. Lady Violet had a strong dash of sportsmanship in her. She was all for the underdog; and the uncalled-for attitude of certain people had rather “got her goat.” Live and let live was an excellent motto; in fact, it so happened that it was the motto of the Trehernes. She enjoyed nothing better than to salt the tails of the Marcella Creber Newsums of the earth and their British prototypes. Mame was doing harm to nobody, yet New York-on-Thames was determined to down her.