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Updated: June 24, 2025
Fetherel, bending her brightly rippled head above the kettle, continued in a murmur of avowal, "The title, even, is a kind of challenge." "'Fast and Loose," Mrs. Clinch mused. "Yes, it ought to take." "I didn't choose it for that reason!" the author protested. "I should have preferred something quieter less pronounced; but I was determined not to shirk the responsibility of what I had written.
Fetherel, with the laugh her cousin's epigram exacted. "But you don't quite see my point. I'm not at all nervous about the success of my book my publisher tells me I have no need to be but I am afraid of its being a succes de scandale." "Mercy!" said Mrs. Clinch, sitting up. The butler and footman at this moment appeared with the tea-tray, and when they had withdrawn, Mrs.
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." Mrs. Fetherel smiled faintly. "Does he feel that?" "Yes; he really does.
All this and more was expressed in the affectionate gesture with which he now raised the yellow envelope above Mrs. Fetherel's clutch; and knowing the uselessness of begging him not to be silly, she said, with a dry despair, "You're boring the Bishop horribly." Fetherel turned a radiant eye on that dignitary. "She bores us all horribly, doesn't she, sir?" he exulted.
Fetherel had turned white, and her eyes were fixed with a blind stare of anger on the large-sleeved figure in the center of the chancel. "And too often, alas, it is the poison and not the balm which the unscrupulous hand of genius proffers to its unsuspecting readers. But, my friends, why should I continue?
"Ah your last book?" faltered Mrs. Fetherel, with a sickening sense of her inability to recall the name or nature of the work in question, and a mental vow never again to be caught in such ignorance of a colleague's productions. "'Through a Glass Brightly," the Bishop explained, with an emphasis which revealed his detection of her predicament.
A writer who dares to show up the hollowness of social conventions must have the courage of her convictions and be willing to accept the consequences of defying society. Can you imagine Ibsen or Tolstoy writing under a false name?" Mrs. Fetherel lifted a tragic eye to her cousin. "You don't know, Bella, how often I've envied you since I began to write.
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!"
"I had not forgotten that I was addressing an authoress," he said. "Indeed, I should not have dared to inflict my troubles on any one not of the craft." Mrs. Fetherel was quivering with the consciousness of her involuntary self-betrayal. "Oh, uncle!" she murmured.
Hynes broke into a smile of comprehension. He glanced at the Bishop, and back at the Bishop's niece; then, as the episcopal hand was solemnly raised to draw back the curtain, he bent and whispered in Mrs. Fetherel's ear: "Why, you gave it yourself! You wonderful woman, of course you gave it yourself!" Mrs. Fetherel raised her eyes to his with a start.
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