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Updated: May 2, 2025
Farraday, knowing her for the moment lost to everything save her latest piece of stage management, left her, and joined the Byrds. He engaged himself to visit their studio the following week. Miss Mason was folding her knitting, and Mary sat in the firelight sewing diligently. Stefan was out in search of paints. "I tell you what 'tis, Mary Elliston Byrd," said Miss Mason.
Stefan had moved with Felicity toward her sofa, and, as she disposed herself, she seemed to be talking to him in French. McEwan and Farraday continued their survey. Mary was surrounded by people, but her eyes strayed across the room. Felicity appeared almost animated, but Stefan seemed inattentive; he fidgeted, and looked vague.
Byrd, you're the luckiest man on earth I hope you deserve it all but then of course no man could. Mary, here are two friends of yours Mr. Byrd, come and be presented to Felicity." Farraday and McEwan had advanced toward them and immediately formed the nucleus of a group which gathered about Mary.
"Don't tell me that you are in ignorance of her status as the Household Company's latest find?" he ejaculated in mock dismay. Mrs. Elliot turned reproachful eyes on Mary. "She never told me, the unfriendly woman!" "Just retribution, Constance, for poring over your propagandist sheets instead of reading our wholesome literature," Farraday retorted.
He laughed gaily, and sat down to his luncheon. Throughout it Mary listened to a detailed account of his morning's work. Next day she received by the first post a cheque for two hundred dollars, with a formal typewritten note from Farraday, expressing pleasure, and a hope that the Household Publishing Company might receive other manuscripts from her for its consideration.
"Yes," nodded Miss Mason emphatically, "I've hated the British ever since the Revolution I and my parents and my grandparents but I guess I'm with them, and those that fight for them, from now on." On the Monday following the sinking of the Lusitania, James Farraday received a letter from the American Hospital in Paris, written in French in a shaky hand, and signed Adolph Jensen.
"What's your address?" he shot at Mary. She produced it. "I'll remember that," McEwan nodded; "coming round to see you. There you are, James. We won't keep you. You have no time and I have less. Come on, Mrs. Byrd." He made for the door, but Farraday lifted his hand. "Too fast, Mac," he smiled. "I haven't had a chance yet.
In the drawing room the little Elliston's presents were displayed, a beautiful old cup from Farraday, a christening robe, and a spoon, "pusher," and fork from Constance, a silver bowl "For Elliston's porridge from his friend Wallace McEwan," and a Bible in stout leather binding from Mrs. Farraday, inscribed in her delicate, slanting hand.
Mary's heart warmed to him at once, he was so shy and clumsy; but Stefan, who detested the mere suspicion of loutishness, favored him with an absent-minded stare. Mary, who sat on Farraday's right, had the boy next her, with his father beyond, Stefan being between Mrs. Farraday and Constance.
Farraday appear in the pony carriage, but not a day passed without McEwan, Jamie, the Havens, or other neighbors dropping in for a chat, or planning a walk, a luncheon, or a sail. Constance, too, immersed in work though she was, ran out several times in her car and spent the night.
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