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"Well, if you two are going to discuss me, I'll leave you at it; I'm not a highbrow editor; I'm the poor ad man my time means money to me." McEwan opened the door, and Mary rose to accompany him. "Won't you sit down again, Mrs. Byrd? I'd like to ask you a few questions," interposed Farraday, who had been turning the pages of Mary's manuscript. "Mac, you be off.
"You're the goods," replied McEwan admiringly. "She couldn't shine as Queen of the Slide if she was tied to the offspring granted. Now then." He leant forward. "She's had to wean him you didn't know that. Your dope is to talk up the house-party, tell her she owes it to herself to get a change, and make her leave the boy with a trained nurse. The Mary lady's no fool, she'll be on."
"Good Lord, McEwan, can't you speak English?" exclaimed Byrd, with quick exasperation. "I hae to speak the New York lingo when I get back there, ye ken," replied the Scot with imperturbable good humor, "so I like to use a wee bit o' the guid Scotch while I hae the chance." "A wee bit!" snorted Stefan, and "Good morning, Mr. McEwan, isn't it beautiful up here?" interposed Miss Elliston, pleasantly.
True, her husband snorted with disgust, but, at a touch from her and a whispered "Be nice to him," restrained himself sufficiently to invite McEwan in with a frigid show of politeness. But once inside, and the candles lighted, Stefan leant glumly against the mantelpiece with his hands in his pockets, evidently determined to leave their visitor entirely on Mary's hands. McEwan was nothing loath.
I allow myself a month every year of my native heath, heather-mixture, and burr I like to do the thing up brown. The rest of the time I'm a Gothamite, of necessity. Some time, when I've made my pile, I shall revert for keeps, and settle down into a kilt and a castle." Much amused by this unsuspected histrionic gift, Mary walked on beside McEwan.
"In Paris I used the worst argot of the quarter, but I've always spoken straightforward English because the only slang I knew in my own tongue reminded me of a place I loathed." "Stefan used to be dreadfully unpatriotic, Mrs. Farraday," explained Mary, "but he is outgrowing it." "Am I?" Stefan asked rather pointedly. "Art," said McEwan grandly, "is international; Byrd belongs to the world."
Farraday on another. Both these came to watch the work, Gunther, unlike Stefan, being oblivious of an audience; and once McEwan came, his sturdy form appearing insignificant beside the giant Norseman. Wallace hung about smoking a pipe for half an hour or more. He was at his most Scotch, appeared well pleased, and ejaculated "Aye, aye," several times, nodding a ponderous head.
He offered his hand to Stefan, who took it, touched. Gravely he picked up his hat, and opened the door, turning for a half bow before closing it behind him. Stefan knew that he had behaved unpardonably, that he had been betrayed into a piece of caddishness, but McEwan had given him the cue for his defense. He hastened to Mary and seized her hand. "Darling, forgive me.
He was dressed in a kilt and small deerskin sporran, with the regulation heavy stockings, tweed jacket and Eton collar. "For Sundays only we have to be Yankees on school days, eh, Jamie?" explained his father. The boy grinned in speechless assent, instantly looking a duplicate of McEwan.
Then she took the key and, hurrying up the little walk, entered the house alone. A moment later Stefan, hailed stentoriously by McEwan, followed her.
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