“But please, you will promise, will you not, to refrain from speaking of this matter to anyone until—until I have had an opportunity of discussing it fully with my son.” The careful phrases were so urgent that Mame, who did not want to give any such promise, felt the best she could do was to make it.
Lady K. thanked her gravely. “And I wonder, my dear”—it was the first time the stately dame had addressed Mame as “my dear”—“if you feel inclined to come down to Shropshire for a few days. It might interest you to see the sort of life we lead.”
Politely Mame was sure that it would.
“When can you come?”
Mame winged a glance to her partner in the newspaper world. The acceptance of the invitation chiefly depended upon the attitude of Celimene.
“No time like the present, is there?” was that attitude promptly and concisely expressed.
“But”—Mame’s quaint honesty raised a smile in both ladies—“’tisn’t fair, honey, to leave you here alone to do all the digging.”
“I can plough a lonely furrow for a week at any rate. And if I find I can’t I’ll get Gerty Smith to give me a hand. You must go back to Shropshire with my mother. We both so want to know what you think of the Towers.”
Mame was puzzled by this cordiality. But she was very keen to see Warlington Towers, that stately English home which for the future would be hers. There was nothing in the manner of mother and daughter to suggest that she would not be an immensely welcome guest.
Reassured, almost in spite of herself, by all this seeming friendliness, Mame asked when Lady Kidderminster proposed to return to her home.