With the taxi outside ticking off twopences with quiet fury Mame felt she was getting down to the real meaning of her favourite maxim, Time is Money. She cut out, therefore, all preliminaries. Without troubling to remark that it was a nice day, as for London it was no doubt, she began in a tone of strict business, spot cash only. “Say, ma’am, can you let me a hall bedroom?”
From the chill mountain height of her disdain the landlady gave Mame a once-over. No matter what the case with her visitor she was in no hurry. The châtelaine of Fotheringay House had never heard of a hall bedroom. Her icy gaze travelled from Mame’s rather crushed hat via her seal plush coat to her tarnished rubbers with a quietly stiffening reserve. Clearly a foreigner. Picturesque creatures no doubt. The late Mr. Toogood was partial to them, but he, though of pure English blood, was of a romantic mind and an Italian warehouseman. His widow preferred to order her life on the sound old plan of giving a wide berth to aliens.
Christian people never knew quite where they were with aliens. Some of them paid, some of them didn’t. Mrs. Toogood’s experience had been mainly among the latter. And in her view, this sharp-eyed slip of a girl who asked for something outlandish in an accent you could cut with a knife, had the look and air of the didn’t.
It might have been racial prejudice, but that was the landlady’s feeling.
“From the Isle of Man, I presume,” said Mrs. Toogood loftily. Although she was the widow of an Italian warehouseman she was not in the least imaginative. The Isle of Man was her Ultima Thule, the farthest eagle flight of which her mind was capable.
Mame knew as much about the Isle of Man as the landlady knew about a hall bedroom. But she smiled broadly.
“I’m from New York.” Her voice went up a little as she made that damaging admission. For the admission was damaging.
“That would be America, would it not?” The growing gloom of the landlady began to verge upon melancholia.
Mame allowed that it would be.
The landlady sniffed. Mame knew by that sniff that the home of her fathers was in the discard.