Mame was quite startled by the sound of her name. Somehow it didn’t seem to belong to her, any more than this ducal mansion seemed to belong to her life. She was dreaming, sure. The echoing “Miss Amethyst Du Rance” seemed to prove it. However, she decided to keep moving, just as if she were broad awake.
The landing gave on to an enormous room, whose massive double doors were thrown right back. And standing in the doorway was a tall, silver-haired dame, dressed in black and white satin, with that particular kind of fagged look which Mame had first observed in the bishop’s niece and was no doubt indigenous to the upper strata of Britain.
As soon as she saw Mame, her tired features lit up in a smile.
“How do you do, Miss Du Rance?” She spoke in a fatigued voice and held out a flabby hand. “The Duchess should be here in a few minutes. You will find some of the presents in there. It may interest you to look at them.”
“Sure,” was Mame’s answer. It was not too ready or too cordial, but rather in the dry tone that Paula Ling called blasé, which in Europe was always reckoned good style. Lady Clara de Vere was on in this scene, and if the skirt was to act her part her words must be few and chosen with discretion.
Lady C. de V. gave her tortoise-shell folders a shake and then passed on into the room. It was immense, and this was a happy dispensation, since it was encumbered with tables on which hundreds of presents were elaborately laid out.
Such things, however, had no particular interest for Mame. They could be seen any old day. It was the house itself and the people in it that were best worth looking at. Here was such a chance of observing the great world from the inside as might never happen again. She must learn as much as she possibly could in the short time at her disposal.
A cursory glance at the presents was all she gave. Then she wandered away through a suite of smaller rooms, all of which were unoccupied. But they were very interesting with their richly patterned carpets wonderful to the tread; glorious tapestries upon the walls, candelabra which reminded her of certain photographs she had seen of Versailles; mirrors, pictures, bric-à-brac in rare profusion. It was freely said in England that the aristocracy had been killed by the war, but from what she saw of Clanborough House there was life in the old dog yet.
However, these things did not greatly matter. The folks were what she was really wishful to see. Therefore she soon returned to the big room. After a careful survey she fixed herself in a strategic corner which partly concealed her yet also commanded a fair view of the open doors and the broad landing and staircase beyond.
In a very few minutes the first of the folks came into view. Even without the guidance of their costumes Mame would have had no difficulty in identifying them from their pictures in the papers as the bride and bridegroom. They made a young and handsome and jolly-looking pair. Any girl might have been envious; but Mame was far too busy to indulge that mean passion.