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Kedzie laughed with glancing tintinnabulations as if one tapped a row of glasses with a knife. Ferriday sighed. He saw that she had never heard of Lamb and thought he was perpetrating an ancient pun. But he did not like bookish women and he often said that nothing was more becoming to a woman than ignorance. They should have wisdom, but no learning.
The thought of having her pictures fail of their mission throughout the world was as hideous as was the knowledge to Carlyle that the only manuscript of his history was but a shovelful of ashes. Ferriday put his arm about her, and she crept in under his chin for safety. She felt very cozy to him, there, and he rejoiced that he had her his at last.
Next he proposed either a potage madrilene or a creme de volaille, Marie Louise. Kedzie chose the latter because it was the latter. She mumbled: "I think a little cremmy vly Marie Louisa would be nice." She was amazed to find later how much it tasted like chicken soup. "We don't want any fish, do we?" Ferriday moaned. "Or do we?
I don't want to be incorporated or photographed or interviewed. I want to be let alone. I'm tired. I've worked too hard. I need a rest." Ferriday hated her with great agility. He had been willing to abet her breach of contract, provided she let him form a new company, but if she would not that made a great difference. He reminded her: "The Hyperfilm Company will hold you to your bond.
As soon as she should learn to hear her first thoughts first, and suppress them unspoken, she would be a made lady. "Oh, you're a true artist, Anita," said Ferriday. "Nothing can hinder your flight into the empyrean." "Don't sing it. Explain it," Kedzie sneered. Ferriday laughed so delightedly that he must embrace her.
Kedzie led Dyckman to a chair and took the next one to it. Ferriday beamed on them and switched on the dark. Then, as if by a divine miracle, the screen at the end of the room became a world of life and light. People were there, and places. Mountains were swung into view and removed. Palaces were decreed and annulled. Fields blossomed with flowers; ballrooms swirled; streets seethed.
Either it was the same with her, or she had purposely controlled herself and him from policy, or had been restrained by coldness or by a certain decency, of which she had a good deal, after all and in spite of all. Throughout their relations they had deceived Ferriday and other cynics.
All her previous existence had been but blind gropings in the womb of time. The backers came to remind Ferriday that there was waiting a costly mob of actors, wooed from the speaking drama by trebled salaries. Ferriday howled to them to get out. They did not respect his inspirations; they suspected his motives toward Kedzie.
Kedzie longed to get at Ferriday and tell him what a sneak he was to lure her into such a web and tie her up with such cheap ropes. She would break her bonds and fling them in his face. She slid abruptly to the floor and began to go over the film pages again, comparing her portraits with the portraits of those higher-paid creatures.
Kedzie and Ferriday were both encouraged when they saw a look of jealous suspicion cross his face. Ferriday hastened to explain: "We've been editing Miss Adair's new film. Like to see an advance edition of it?" "Love to," said Dyckman. "Oh, Simpson, run that last picture through again," Ferriday called through a little hole in the wall. A faint "All right, sir" responded.
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