The famous meerschaum holder was produced. Mame declined a crème de menthe and the mildest of all imaginable gaspers. Nay, she was in the act of trying to drown her gloom in barley water; a pretty hopeless task, for that beverage, sound as it may be, is no antidote for the blues, when hey! presto! the fairy godmother came back into the picture. And poor Cinderella suddenly began to sit up and take notice.
“Did I tell you that Cousin Edith is going abroad for the summer?”
Miss Du Rance had not been enlightened.
“Well, she is. Some friends of hers have a villa at Lausanne and next week she is off to stay with them until September. I shall miss her dreadfully. She is such a good sort. And of course she plays propriety at Half Moon Street. Personally I don’t mind a row of beans, I defy the breath of scandal to touch sweet innocents like Davis and me; but my mother, you know, thinks it not quite nice. Anyhow, I am wondering if you feel inclined to tolerate Cousin Edith’s room at the flat for a month or two?”
Feel inclined to tolerate! Cinderella’s eyes began to glow, yet she kept a rigid silence. For she was plunged in some deep and rapid calculations.
“What do you say?”
“Glory, that’s what I’d say.” Mame could not dissemble her enthusiasm. As well, no doubt; since it was the native force of that enthusiasm which had such a tonic effect upon her rather blasé friend.
“A firm offer if you care to take it.” The tone was amused and casual. “Cousin Edith’s mattress is a hard beast, and Davis and I are a pair of Bolshies before breakfast and a couple of bores after it, but we shall be full of gratitude if you’ll come and stand between us and the milkman, who, according to Davis, is a bit of a Don Juan.”
“Why of course I’ll come. I’ll simply love to. But—”
The meerschaum holder queried the weak word But.