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Updated: June 24, 2025
Fetherel slowly turned on her an eye brimming with the incommunicable; then, dropping into her seat again, she added, with a tragic laugh, "There's nothing left to say." "Nothing ?" faltered Mrs. Clinch, longing for another tea-cake, but feeling the inappropriateness of the impulse in an atmosphere so charged with the portentous. "Do you mean that everything has been said?"
Fetherel, whose face had changed with astonishing rapidity from surprise to annoyance, from annoyance to relief, and then back again to something very like indignation.
Gollinger, with cumulative rapture "now that you are about to show, by appearing at the ceremony to-day, that there has been no break in your friendly relations, the dear Bishop's happiness will be complete. He was so longing to have you come to the unveiling!" "He might have counted on me," said Mrs. Fetherel, still smiling. "Ah, that is so beautifully forgiving of you!" cried Mrs.
"There's our train," said Hynes; and they began to push their way through the crowd surging toward one of the inner doors. As they stood wedged between circumferent shoulders, Mrs. Fetherel became conscious of the fixed stare of a pretty girl who whispered eagerly to her companion: "Look Myrtle! That's Paula Fetherel right behind us I knew her in a minute!"
"Have you read it?" said his wife, uncontrollably. "Read it? Of course not it's just this minute come. I say, Bishop, you're not going ?" "Not till I've heard this," said the Bishop, settling himself in his chair with an indulgent smile. His niece glanced at him despairingly. "Don't let John's nonsense detain you," she entreated. "Detain him? That's good," guffawed Fetherel.
"Why, yes look at those two novels in England last year " Mrs. Fetherel shook her head hopelessly. "There is so much more interest in literature in England than here." "Well, we've got to make the supply create the demand. The Bishop could run your novel up into the hundred thousands in no time." "But if he can't make his own sell ?"
One of the ladies, at Mrs. Fetherel's approach, uttered an exclamation of pleasure and advanced with outstretched hand. "My dear Mrs. Fetherel! I am so delighted to see you here. May I hope you are going to the unveiling of the chantry window? The dear Bishop so hoped that you would do so! But perhaps I ought to introduce myself. I am Mrs.
Fetherel sought the nearest refuge from conversation by offering him a cup of tea. The Bishop accepted with the preoccupied air of a man to whom, for the moment, tea is but a subordinate incident. Mrs.
The publishers will soon be having their 'fall and spring openings' and their 'special importations for Horse-Show Week. But the Bishop is right, of course nothing helps a book like a rousing attack on its morals; and as the publishers can't exactly proclaim the impropriety of their own wares, the task has to be left to the press or the pulpit." "The pulpit ?" Mrs. Fetherel mused.
It was agreeably obvious to every one, Fetherel included, that he was not the man to appreciate such a woman; but there are no limits to man's perversity, and he did his best to invalidate this advantage by admiring her without pretending to understand her. What she most suffered from was this fatuous approval: the maddening sense that, however she conducted herself, he would always admire her.
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