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Mrs. Fetherel, driving up to the Grand Central Station one morning
about five months later, caught sight of the distinguished novelist,
Archer Hynes, hurrying into the waiting-room ahead of her. Hynes, on
his side, recognizing her brougham, turned back to greet her as the
footman opened the carriage-door.
"My dear colleague! Is it possible that we are traveling together?"
Mrs. Fetherel blushed with pleasure. Hynes had given her two columns
of praise in the Sunday "Meteor," and she had not yet learned to
disguise her gratitude.
"I am going to Ossining," she said, smilingly.
"So am I. Why, this is almost as good as an elopement."
"And it will end where elopements ought to--in church."
"In church? You're not going to Ossining to go to church?"
"Why not? There's a special ceremony in the cathedral--the chantry
window is to be unveiled."
"The chantry window? How picturesque! What _is_ a chantry? And why
do you want to see it unveiled? Are you after copy--doing something
in the Huysmans manner? 'La Cathedrale,' eh?"
"Oh, no." Mrs. Fetherel hesitated. "I'm going simply to please my
uncle," she said, at last.
"Your uncle?"
"The Bishop, you know." She smiled.
"The Bishop--the Bishop of Ossining? Why, wasn't he the chap who
made that ridiculous attack on your book? Is that prehistoric ass
your uncle? Upon my soul, I think you're mighty forgiving to travel
all the way to Ossining for one of his stained-glass sociables!"
Mrs. Fetherel's smile flowed into a gentle laugh. "Oh, I've never
allowed that to interfere with our friendship. My uncle felt
dreadfully about having to speak publicly against my book--it was a
great deal harder for him than for me--but he thought it his duty to
do so. He has the very highest sense of duty."
"Well," said Hynes, with a shrug, "I don't know that he didn't do
you a good turn. Look at that!"
They were standing near the book-stall, and he pointed to a placard
surmounting the counter and emblazoned with the conspicuous
announcement: "Fast and Loose. New Edition with Author's Portrait.
Hundred and Fiftieth Thousand."
Mrs. Fetherel frowned impatiently. "How absurd! They've no right to
use my picture as a poster!"
"There's our train," said Hynes; and they began to push their way
through the crowd surging toward one of the inner doors.
As they stood wedged between circumferent shoulders, Mrs. Fetherel
became conscious of the fixed stare of a pretty girl who whispered
eagerly to her companion: "Look Myrtle! That's Paula Fetherel right
behind us--I knew her in a minute!"
"Gracious--where?" cried the other girl, giving her head a twist
which swept her Gainsborough plumes across Mrs. Fetherel's face.
The first speaker's words had carried beyond her companion's ear,
and a lemon-colored woman in spectacles, who clutched a copy of the
"Journal of Psychology" on one drab-cotton-gloved hand, stretched her
disengaged hand across the intervening barrier of humanity.
"Have I the privilege of addressing the distinguished author of
'Fast and Loose'? If so, let me thank you in the name of the Woman's
Psychological League of Peoria for your magnificent courage in
raising the standard of revolt against--"
"You can tell us the rest in the car," said a fat man, pressing his
good-humored bulk against the speaker's arm.
Mrs. Fetherel, blushing, embarrassed and happy, slipped into the
space produced by this displacement, and a few moments later had
taken her seat in the train.
She was a little late, and the other chairs were already filled by a
company of elderly ladies and clergymen who seemed to belong to the
same party, and were still busy exchanging greetings and settling
themselves in their places.
One of the ladies, at Mrs. Fetherel's approach, uttered an
exclamation of pleasure and advanced with outstretched hand. "My
dear Mrs. Fetherel! I am so delighted to see you here. May I hope
you are going to the unveiling of the chantry window? The dear
Bishop so hoped that you would do so! But perhaps I ought to
introduce myself. I am Mrs. Gollinger"--she lowered her voice
expressively--"one of your uncle's oldest friends, one who has stood
close to him through all this sad business, and who knows what he
suffered when he felt obliged to sacrifice family affection to the
call of duty."
Mrs. Fetherel, who had smiled and colored slightly at the beginning
of this speech, received its close with a deprecating gesture.
"Oh, pray don't mention it," she murmured. "I quite understood how
my uncle was placed--I bore him no ill will for feeling obliged to
preach against my book."
"He understood that, and was so touched by it! He has often told me
that it was the hardest task he was ever called upon to
perform--and, do you know, he quite feels that this unexpected gift
of the chantry window is in some way a return for his courage in
preaching that sermon."
Mrs. Fetherel smiled faintly. "Does he feel that?"
"Yes; he really does. When the funds for the window were so
mysteriously placed at his disposal, just as he had begun to despair
of raising them, he assured me that he could not help connecting the
fact with his denunciation of your book."
"Dear uncle!" sighed Mrs. Fetherel. "Did he say that?"
"And now," continued Mrs. Gollinger, with cumulative rapture--"now
that you are about to show, by appearing at the ceremony to-day,
that there has been no break in your friendly relations, the dear
Bishop's happiness will be complete. He was so longing to have you
come to the unveiling!"
"He might have counted on me," said Mrs. Fetherel, still smiling.
"Ah, that is so beautifully forgiving of you!" cried Mrs. Gollinger,
enthusiastically. "But then, the Bishop has always assured me that
your real nature was very different from that which--if you will
pardon my saying so--seems to be revealed by your brilliant
but--er--rather subversive book. 'If you only knew my niece, dear
Mrs. Gollinger,' he always said, 'you would see that her novel was
written in all innocence of heart;' and to tell you the truth, when
I first read the book I didn't think it so very, _very_ shocking. It
wasn't till the dear Bishop had explained tome--but, dear me, I
mustn't take up your time in this way when so many others are
anxious to have a word with you."
Mrs. Fetherel glanced at her in surprise, and Mrs. Gollinger
continued, with a playful smile: "You forget that your face is
familiar to thousands whom you have never seen. We all recognized
you the moment you entered the train, and my friends here are so
eager to make your acquaintance--even those"--her smile
deepened--"who thought the dear Bishop not _quite unjustified_ in
his attack on your remarkable novel."
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