Mrs. Mount gazed at Mumsie as if she were deciding whether to shriek or cry. She did not do either, but in a voice sepulchral murmured:
“Mrs. Somers, I’ve already told twenty people that Doris’s dress cost one thousand dollars. As a matter of fact, it really only cost six hundred and fifty, but I said a thousand as I always like to deal in round figures. All Ottawa has heard of Doris’s thousand dollar dress, and that I cabled to Paris for it. There is nothing for it; I’m beat, I’m beat. And, by a beastly Yankee whose father made his money out of chewing-gum. Chewing gum! just fancy!” Mrs. Mount wore an air of complete defeat as she walked away.
As Mrs. Mount left us, Uncle and Mr. Bang came up, and Mumsie recounted the scene with admirable skill. Uncle was highly amused and laughed immoderately; Mr. Bang being in a less doleful frame of mind than usual, became almost gleeful. Dear old Mumsie!
Uncle then informed us that he must leave for home by the Sunday morning train. This was a disappointment to us, of course, and then Mr. Bang said:
“Auntie, I learn that Norway Lake Hotel is the last word of comfort and—as Elsie will be pleased to hear—fashion. We can leave here Sunday morning and be there at three in the afternoon. And, do you know—I won’t add the ‘really,’ unless my ears or understanding played me false—Mrs. Mount is also——”
“If Mrs. Mount is going that fact will give Norway Lake its certificate,” cut in Mumsie.
I stood limp—Norway Lake!—not Mrs. Mount or her daughter was the person to whom my mind flew, but Charlie Lien. But what could I say—do? For a healthy debutante to decline to go to a winter resort, such a winter resort as Norway House, would be suspicious. I said nothing.
January 15th.
It is all over; I have made my bow. I am really in society. In a great, gloomy corridor hundred and hundreds of us stood for hours, trampling on each other. The human sand ran very slow, but at long last we—I—filed in. Battered and bruised I passed up the aisle underneath the gallery and handed my card to an aide. In stentorian tones he announced my name, but although his voice was good and strong, I felt it falling on an indifferent world. I passed into the limelight, curtesied to His Excellency and then to Her Excellency. It was over. Only a moment, and it was done.
The faces of their Excellencies, as I paid tribute, were smiling kindly. Standing to the left of their Excellencies were their daughters. We passed, the procession passed, in front of them, and out: and then upstairs into the gallery, where I took my stand and watched those coming after. This is all there is to making one bow, except getting one’s bouquet crushed; and yet as a ceremony it means much. I am in Society.