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Updated: June 24, 2025
"In fact," the Bishop continued, with a gesture which seemed to brush away her scruples, "I came here partly to speak to you about your novel. 'Fast and Loose, I think you call it?" Mrs. Fetherel blushed assentingly. "And is it out yet?" the Bishop continued. "It came out about a week ago. But you haven't touched your tea, and it must be quite cold. Let me give you another cup..."
"My reason for asking," the Bishop went on, with the bland inexorableness with which, in his younger days, he had been known to continue a sermon after the senior warden had looked four times at his watch "my reason for asking is, that I hoped I might not be too late to induce you to change the title." Mrs. Fetherel set down the cup she had filled. "The title?" she faltered.
Fetherel, as the publication of her novel testified, was in theory a woman of independent views; and if in practise she sometimes failed to live up to her standard, it was rather from an irresistible tendency to adapt herself to her environment than from any conscious lack of moral courage.
The chances are that some of the clippings will be rather pleasant reading. The critics are not all union men." Mrs. Fetherel stared. "Union men?" "Well, I mean they don't all belong to the well-known Society-for-the-Persecution-of-Rising-Authors. Some of them have even been known to defy its regulations and say a good word for a new writer." "Oh, I dare say," said Mrs.
Fetherel, driving up to the Grand Central Station one morning about five months later, caught sight of the distinguished novelist, Archer Hynes, hurrying into the waiting-room ahead of her. Hynes, on his side, recognizing her brougham, turned back to greet her as the footman opened the carriage-door. "My dear colleague! Is it possible that we are traveling together?" Mrs.
Had he belonged to the class whose conversational supplies are drawn from the domestic circle, his wife's name would never have been off his lips; and to Mrs. Fetherel's sensitive perceptions his frequent silences were indicative of the fact that she was his one topic. It was, in part, the attempt to escape this persistent approbation that had driven Mrs. Fetherel to authorship.
Fetherel blushed with pleasure. Hynes had given her two columns of praise in the Sunday "Meteor," and she had not yet learned to disguise her gratitude. "I am going to Ossining," she said, smilingly. "So am I. Why, this is almost as good as an elopement." "And it will end where elopements ought to in church." "In church? You're not going to Ossining to go to church?" "Why not?
"At the risk of horrifying you, my dear," he added, with a slight laugh, "I will confide to you that my best chance of a popular success would be to have my book denounced by the press." "Denounced?" gasped Mrs. Fetherel. "On what ground?" "On the ground of immorality." The Bishop evaded her startled gaze.
Clinch. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Bishop's warmest greetings were always reserved for Mrs. Fetherel; and on this occasion Mrs. Clinch thought she detected, in the salutation which fell to her share, a pronounced suggestion that her own presence was superfluous a hint which she took with her usual imperturbable good humor. Left alone with the Bishop, Mrs.
"It's not what I said just now ?" she ventured. "Just now?" "About 'Fast and Loose'? I came to talk it over." Mrs. Fetherel sprang to her feet. "I never," she cried dramatically, "want to hear it mentioned again!" "Paula!" exclaimed Mrs. Clinch, setting down her cup. Mrs.
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