I have a very dear friend in Paris this very minute, Vini Rondo, she was rightthere when the Germans marched in! I have positive nightmares when I think what she must be going through!” Mrs. Munson said it as if it were she whose fate lay in the balance.
If there was anyone in the party who hadn’t heard the story before she would hasten to explain about her friend. “You see,” she would begin, “Vini was just the most talented girl, interested in art and all that sort of thing. Well, she had quite a bit of money, so she went to Europe at least once a year. Finally, when her father died she packed up her things and went for good. My, but she had a fling, and then she married some Count or Baron or something. Maybe you’ve heard of her … Vini Rondo … Cholly Knickerbocker used to mention her all the time.” And it went on and on, like some historical lecture.
“Vini, back in America,” she thought, never ceasing to revel in the wonder of it. She puffed up the small green pillows on the couch and sat down. With piercing eyes she examined her room. Funny you never really see your surroundings until a visitor is expected. Well, Mrs. Munson sighed contentedly, that new girl had, for a rarity, restored pre-war standards.
The door-bell rang abruptly. It buzzed twice before Mrs. Munson could move, she was that excited. Finally she composed herself and went to answer.
At first Mrs. Munson didn’t recognize her. The woman who confronted her had no chic up-swept coiffure … indeed her hair hung rather limply and had an uncombed look. A print dress in January? Mrs. Munson tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she said, “Vini, darling, I should have known you anywhere.”
The woman still stood in the threshold. Under her arm she carried a large pink box and her gray eyes looked out at Mrs. Munson curiously.
“Would you, Bertha?” Her voice was a queer whisper. “That’s nice, very nice. I should have recognized you, too, although you’ve gottenrather fat, haven’t you?” Then she accepted Mrs. Munson’s extended hand and came in.
Mrs. Munson was embarrassed and she didn’t know quite what to say. Arm-in-arm they went into the livingroom and sat down.
“How about some sherry?”
Vini shook her dark little head, “No, thank you.”
“Well, how about a scotch or something?” Mrs. Munson asked desperately. The figurine clock on the sham mantelpiece chimed softly. Mrs. Munson had never noticed how loud it could sound.
“No,” said Vini firmly, “nothing, thank you.”
Resignedly Mrs. Munson settled back on the couch. “Now, darling, tell me all about it. When did you get back in the States?” She liked the sound of that. “The States.”
Vini placed the big pink box down between her legs and folded her hands. “I’ve been here for almost a year,” she paused, then hurried on, realizing the startled expression of her hostess, “but I haven’t been in New York. Naturally I would have gotten in touch with you sooner, but I was out in California.”
“Oh, California, I love California!” Mrs. Munson exclaimed, though in point of fact, she had never been further west than Chicago.
Vini smiled and Mrs. Munson noticed how irregular her teeth were and decided they could do with a good brushing.
“So,” Vini continued, “when I got back in New York last week I thought of you at once. I had an awful time trying to find you because I couldn’t remember your husband’s first name.…”
“Albert,” Mrs. Munson put in unnecessarily.
“… but I finally did and here I am. You know, Bertha, I really started thinking about you when I decided to get rid of my mink coat.”
Mrs. Munson saw a sudden blush on Vini’s face.
“Your mink coat?”
“Yes,” Vini said, lifting up the pink box. “You remember my minkcoat. You always admired it so. You always said it was the loveliest coat you’d ever seen.” She started to undo the frayed silk ribbon that held the box