Clucking away at the typewriter, she hardened her heart. The time was now. It was her duty to break the news before the world was a day older.
While she nursed this growing resolution she heard the front door open. And then came Violet’s light but decided step in the hall. A minute later when she came into the room she lacked nothing of that genial insouciance which Mame so much admired. But as Mame glanced up she was a little chilled by her eyes. The absence of real friendliness, which once had verged on affection, was now complete.
“Where have you been to, my pretty maid?” The question was humorously put. Had Violet been dying it would still have been a point of honour with her to put things humorously.
“Getting engaged to be mar-ri-ed, please m’m, she said.” The retort was quick. It was also bold. Mame was wise enough to appreciate that this particular bull would have to be taken by the horns.
Violet was startled. It was not a bit of use dissembling: she was really startled. Mame, besides, once she had begun upon the cold drawn truth was no believer in half measures. She lifted her left hand from the typewriter and flashed its new brilliancy before the astonished eyes of her questioner.
“How beautiful!” There was nothing in the gay voice to betray anxiety; all the same a slight change of colour rather gave Bill’s sister away. “My dear, you have told me nothing of this.” Mame could not help admiring her friend’s fortitude. “Tell me, who is the happy man?”
“Mean to say you can’t guess?” Each syllable expressed incredulity.
“How should one?”
Violet kept up the game pretty well, but the note of innocence was pitched just a shade high. Evidently she felt it necessary to play for time.
“Aw, shucks, honey. Cut it out.” In the stress of pure emotion Mame had a sudden relapse to the primitive manner of her fathers. “Who do you think it can be? The Prince of Wales?”