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Updated: May 2, 2025
"She won't have to walk," Farraday answered. Started on practical issues, Mary's mind had flown to the need of a telephone to link them to her doctor. "May we install a 'phone?" she asked. "I never lived with one till two months ago, but already it is a confirmed vice with me." "Mayn't I have it put in for you there should be one here," said he. "Oh, no, please!"
She had discussed with him the matter of the illustrations for her verses as soon as she received her cheque from Farraday. They had agreed that it would be a pity for him to take time for them from his masterpiece. "Besides, sweetheart," he had said, "I honestly think Ledward will do them better.
The meal was served by a gray-haired negro, of manners so perfect as to suggest the ideal southern servant, already familiar to Mary in American fiction. As if in answer to a cue, Mrs. Farraday explained across the table that Moses and his wife had come from Philadelphia with her on her marriage, and had been born in the South before the war.
Farraday turned on her a smile which seemed to make them allies in their joint comprehension of McEwan's advocacy. "She's got a story with her for you to see," went on that enthusiast. "I've told her if it's good enough for our magazine it's two hundred dollars good enough. There's the script." He took it from her, and flattened it out on Farraday's table. "Look it over and write her."
I thought I would get an outside criticism first, just to save my face," she hurried on, anxious in reality to save her husband's. "I pleaded, but she was obdurate," contributed Stefan, looking at her with reproach. Farraday smiled enlightenment. "I see. Well, I shall hope you will change your mind about the illustrations when you have read the poems that is, if your style would adapt itself.
When she had gone, James Farraday returned to his desk, lit a cigar, and smoked absently for a few moments, staring out of the window. Then he pulled his chair forward, and unhooked the receiver. Mary hurried home vibrant with happiness, and ran into the studio to find Stefan disconsolately gazing out of the window. He whirled at her approach, and caught her in his arms. "Wicked one!
"Theodore has begun golfing again, now that the snow has gone," she greeted her, "so that I am a grass widow on holidays as well as all the week." "Why don't you learn to play, too?" Mary asked, as they settled themselves, Stefan sitting in front with Farraday, who was driving. "Oh, for your English feet, my dear!" sighed Constance.
"Are there many tin cans?" enquired Stefan, flippantly. "In Michigan I remember them as the chief suburban decoration." "Yes?" said Farraday, in his invariably courteous tone, "I've never been there. It is a long way from New York." "Touche," cried Stefan, grinning. "But you would think pessimism justified if you'd ever had my experience of rural life."
In fifteen minutes Farraday had dressed and was at the door, his great car gliding up silently beside the doctor's. As he walked in Stefan saw that his face was quite white. "It was awfully good of you to come," he said. "I'm so glad you asked me. My car is a sixty horsepower, if anything were needed." Farraday sat down, and lighted a pipe.
Defeated, he was obliged to fetch a cup. When he returned, it was to find her talking monosyllabic English to a group of men. Farraday and McEwan had temporarily resigned Mary to a stream of newcomers, and stood watching the scene from the inner drawing room. "James," said McEwan, "get on to the makeup of the crowd round our lady, and compare it with the specimens rubbering the little Berber."
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