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."