“I’m a special European correspondent.” Mame gave a slow and careful value to each word.
A faint beam pierced the landlady’s gloom. She had feared “an actress”; although to be just to the girl she didn’t look that sort.
“Here is my card,” Broadway cold drawn and pure, with a dash of Elmer P. talking over the phone.
The châtelaine of Fotheringay House adjusted a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses and read:
Miss Amethyst Du Rance
New York City, U. S. A.
European Correspondent
Cowbarn Independent
The card was returned to its owner with polite thanks. A subtle gesture indicated that a sudden rise had occurred in the stock of Miss Amethyst Du Rance.
“I’m not quite sure, Miss Du Rance, but I may be able to find you a bedroom on the second floor.”
Victory! The roll had begun the good work, but the card had consummated it. One up for the Cowbarn Independent.
Iowa’s shrewd daughter had realized already that it would not do to make a poor mouth in Europe. All the same Aunt Lou’s legacy was melting like snow. Money must appear to be no object as far as Miss Amethyst Du Rance was concerned; yet she must watch out or a whole dollar would not pull more than fifty cents.