, 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. 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? There's a special ceremony in the cathedral--the chantry
window is to be unveiled."

"The chantry window? How picturesque! What _is_ a chantry? And why do
you want to see it unveiled? Are you after copy--doing something in the
Huysmans manner? 'La Cathedrale,' eh?"

"Oh, no." Mrs. Fetherel hesitated. "I'm going simply to please my
uncle," she said, at last.

"Your uncle?"

"The Bishop, you know." She smiled.

"The Bishop--the Bishop of Ossining? Why, wasn't he the chap who made
that ridiculous attack on your book? Is that prehistoric ass your
uncle? Upon my soul, I think you're mighty forgiving to travel all the
way to Ossining for one of his stained-glass sociables!"

Mrs. Fetherel's smile flowed into a gentle laugh. "Oh, I've never
allowed that to interfere with our friendship. My uncle felt dreadfully
about having to speak publicly against my book--it was a great deal
harder for him than for me--but he thought it his duty to do so. He has
the very highest sense of duty."

"Well," said Hynes, with a shrug, "I don't know that he didn't do you a
good turn. Look at that!"

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!"

"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!"

"Gracious--where?" cried the other girl, giving her head a twist which
swept her Gainsborou