“I live in a small hutch of my own,” said Lady Violet. “No. 16b Half Moon Street, bath hot and cold, company’s own water. Telephone double o, nine, six, Mayfair.”
Mame carefully wrote the most salient of these details on the back of the visiting card.
“If you are staying on in London I hope you’ll look me up.”
Lady C. de V. would be de-light-ed.
“I’m always in Tuesdays four to six. Very glad to see you if you’ll come round.”
“You bet I will.”
But the face of Mame suddenly fell. For she remembered how terribly narrow was the financial margin upon which she was at that moment poised. It sprang to the tip of her tongue to ask this new and influential friend, who no doubt was in everything and had all sorts of strings to pull, if she could help her in the matter of placing her stuff. But pride restrained her. Prudence also. This was hardly a moment in which she could venture to give herself away.
XVIII
TRIUMPH was the emotion uppermost in Miss Amethyst Du Rance when, next morning, soon after eight, she slipped into her kimono and, large sponge in hand, made her way down to the bathroom. Undoubtedly she had come off well. The present feeling of inward power was some reward for the expenditure of spirit the previous day had cost.
There was, however, a less pleasing side to the matter. And in the course of her bath it began most inconveniently to present itself. No use burking the fact: she had quite outrun the constable. Doing a swift sum in her head, she was almost horrified to find how deeply she had dipped into her purse.