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"It is a bore at first," she conceded; "but you'll be surprised to see how soon one gets used to it." "I shall never get used to it " Mrs. Fetherel brokenly declared. "Have they been so very nasty all of them?" "Every one of them!" the novelist sobbed. "I'm so sorry, dear; it does hurt, I know but hadn't you rather expected it?" "Expected it?" cried Mrs. Fetherel, sitting up. 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.
Fetherel looked up with a gasp of mingled relief and anger "when I tell you, my dear friends, that it was your Bishop's own work which first roused the mind of one of his flock to the crying need of a chantry window, I think you will admit that I am justified in celebrating the triumphs of the pen, even though it be the modest instrument which your own Bishop wields."
At this unexpected announcement, a ripple of excitement ran through the assemblage, and more than one head was abruptly turned in the direction of Mrs. Fetherel, who sat listening in an agony of wonder and confusion.
She dropped into her low chair by the tea-table, and the two visitors, as if drawn by her smile, advanced to receive the cups she held out. She glanced about for Waythorn, and he took the third cup with a laugh. "I CAN never," said Mrs. Fetherel, "hear the bell ring without a shudder."
"A touching subject, surely; and I believe I did it justice; at least, so my friends assured me." "Why, yes I remember there was a splendid review of it in the 'Reredos'!" cried Mrs. Fetherel, moved by the incipient instinct of reciprocity. "Yes by my dear friend Mrs. Gollinger, whose husband, the late Dean Gollinger, was under very particular obligations to me. Mrs.
Landscape gardeners, who are aware of the usefulness of a valley in emphasizing the height of a hill, can form an idea of the account to which an accomplished woman may turn such deficiencies; and it need scarcely be said that Mrs. Fetherel had made the most of her opportunities.
"That's what the Bishop said!" cried Mrs. Fetherel. "He did?" "He said his only chance of selling 'Through a Glass Brightly' was to have it denounced on the ground of immorality." "H'm," said Mrs. Clinch. "I thought he knew a trick or two." She turned an illuminated eye on her cousin. "You ought to get him to denounce 'Fast and Loose'!" she cried. Mrs. Fetherel looked at her suspiciously.
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.
"Well," she said, "I suppose you were prepared for the consequences of authorship?" Mrs. Fetherel blushed brightly. "It isn't their coming," she owned "it's their coming now." "Now?" "The Bishop's in town." Mrs. Clinch leaned back and shaped her lips to a whistle which deflected in a laugh. "Well!" she said. "You see!" Mrs. Fetherel triumphed. "Well weren't you prepared for the Bishop?"