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At a glance the sheets appeared wholesome, but not narrow; dignified, but not dull. She wondered how much of their general tone they owed to Mr. Farraday, and determined to ask McEwan more about his friend when next she saw him. Her speculations were interrupted by Stefan, who somewhat excitedly pulled her sleeve, pointing to a colored drawing of a woman's head on the wall behind her.
Terrified, she telephoned for Dr. Hillyard, and received her at the door with a white face. It was a Sunday morning, and McEwan had just dropped in with some chrysanthemums from the Farradays' greenhouse. Finding Mary disturbed he had not remained, and was leaving the house as the doctor drove up. Dr. Hillyard's first words were reassuring.
"Yes, that's the best thing I've done, McEwan. As you're a friend of both of us, you ought to see it," he exclaimed, and before Mary could utter a protest had wheeled the easel round to the light and thrown back the drapery. He massed the candles on the mantelpiece. "Here," he called, "stand here where you can see properly. Mythological, you see, Danae. What do you think of it?"
"Our mutual friend, McEwan, was here again yesterday, with a most glowing account of your work, Mr. Byrd; he seems to have adopted the role of press agent for the family." "He's the soul of kindness," said Mary. "Yes, a thoroughly good sort," Stefan conceded. "Here are the New York sketches," he went on, opening his portfolio on Farraday's desk. "Half a dozen of them."
"Weel," said McEwan at last, more quietly. "I'll be going o'er to enlist. I would ha' gone long sine, but that me poor girl would ha' thocht I'd desairted her. She doesna' need me now, and there's eno' left for the lad. Aye, this is me call. I was ay a slow man to wrath, Mary, but now if I can but kill one German before I die " His great fist clenched again on the table.
Yet he had always known Farraday for one; and certainly Gunther, who modeled her, and McEwan, who dogged her footsteps, could admire her no less than the editor. The thought that his wife was sought after, that he was probably envied by other men, warmed Stefan's heart pleasantly, just as Constance intended it should.
They tried it over, below their breaths. The room was filling again. People began to settle down expectantly; McEwan struck his opening chords. Just as Mary's first note sounded, Stefan and Felicity entered the room. He started in surprise; then Mary saw him smile delightedly, and they both settled themselves well in front.
She was glad to be silent after her strenuous efforts as a hostess, and McEwan was apparently too filled with satisfaction to have room left for speech. His red face beamed, his big teeth glistened, pleasure radiated from him. "Aye, aye," he chuckled, nodding his ponderous head, and again "Aye, aye," in tones of fat content, as the two Byrds swung lightly by. "Aye, aye, Mr.
Farraday stopped to lock the kitchen entrance and found McEwan on the little porch as he emerged, while the others were busy settling themselves in the car. As Farraday turned the heavy front door lock, his friend's hand fell on his shoulder. "Ought ye to do it, James?" McEwan asked quietly. Farraday raised his eyes, and looked steadily at the other, with his slow smile.
The day after the arrival of Miss Mason's letter McEwan had dropped in upon Constance in the evening, when he knew she would be resting after her strenuous day's work at headquarters. By way of a compliment on her gown he led the conversation round to Felicity Berber, and elicited the information that she was abroad. "In Paris, perhaps?" he suggested.
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