Chastened by the buffets of the day she returned to Montacute Square about five. When she entered the gloomy drawing room the tabbies received her icily. Not a sign of success on the horizon so far. The tea drinking was as depressing as ever. Nobody took any notice of her.
The aloofness of these frumps was as hard to bear as the insolence of the editor of High Life. Mame’s resentment grew. Presently she rose and went up to her cold bedroom. She got out her writing case. Perched with knees crossed, on the end of her bed, she spent a prosperous hour jotting down her first day’s impressions of London, England.
Vigorous mental exercise seemed to take a load off her spirit. What she had written ought to raise a smile in Elmer P. To-morrow she would go at it again; then it should be typed and mailed. If the boob fell for it, and born optimist that Mame Durrance was, she felt he sure would, where that stuff came from there was good and plenty more to pull.
VII
WHEN Mame returned to the drawing room she was dressed for the evening meal. It was only seven o’clock and she counted on having the place to herself, since at that hour the tabbies would be occupied with their own preparations. But as it happened the room was not quite empty. There was just one person in it.
The old elegant, who had already excited Mame’s curiosity, stood before the meagre fire warming his thin hands. As soon as she came in he turned towards her with a little bow of rare politeness.
“I am told,” he said in the deepest, most measured tone Mame had ever heard, “you are an American.”
Mame owned to that in the half-humorous manner she had already adopted for the benefit of these islanders. Some folks might have been abashed by this obvious grandee. Not so Miss Amethyst Du Rance. She was as good as the best and she was in business to prove it. These bums were not to be taken at their own valuation. Back of everything her faith in her own shrewd wits was unshakable.
“I have a very warm corner in my heart for all Americans.”
“Have you so?” said Mame.