The Nest Builder Part 15

Their hostess looked puzzled.

"Don't tell me that you are in ignorance of her status as the Household Company's latest find?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed in mock dismay.

Mrs. Elliot turned reproachful eyes on Mary. "She never told me, the unfriendly woman!"

"Just retribution, Constance, for poring over your propagandist sheets instead of reading our wholesome literature," Farraday retorted. "Had you done your duty by the Household magazines you would have needed no telling."

"A hit, a palpable hit," she answered, laughing. "Which reminds me that I want another article from you, James, for our Woman Citizen."

"Mrs. Byrd," said Farraday, "behold in me a driven slave. Won't you come to my rescue and write something for this insatiable suffragist?"

Mary shook her head. "No, no, Mr. Farraday, I can't argue, either personally or on paper. You should hear me trying to make a speech!

Pathetic."

Stefan, who had ceased to follow the conversation, and was restlessly examining prints on the wall, turned at this. "Don't do it, dearest.

Argument is so unbeautiful, and I couldn't stand your doing anything badly." He drifted away to a group of women who were discussing the Italian Futurists.

"Tell me about this lion, James," said Constance, settling herself on the sofa. "I believe she is too modest to tell me herself." She looked at Mary affectionately.

"She has written a second 'Child's Garden,' almost rivaling the first, and we have a child's story of hers which will be as popular as some of Frances Hodgson Burnett's," summed up Farraday.

Mary blushed with pleasure at this praise, but was about to deprecate it when Stefan signaled her away. "Mary," he called, "I want you to hear this I am saying about the Cubists!" She left them with a little smile of excuse, and they watched her tall figure join her husband.

"James," said Mrs. Elliot irrelevantly, "why in the world don't you marry?"

"Because, Constance," he smiled, "all the women I most admire in the world are already married."

"a propos, have you seen Mr. Byrd's work?" she asked.

"Only some drawings, from which I suspect him of genius. But she is as gifted in her way as he, only it's a smaller way."

"Don't place him till you've seen his big picture, painted from her.

It's tremendous. We've got to have it exhibited at Constantine's. I want you to help me arrange it for them. She's inexperienced, and he's helplessly unpractical. Oh!" she grasped his arm; "a splendid idea! Why shouldn't I have a private exhibition here first, for the benefit of the Cause?"

Farraday threw up his hands. "You are indefatigable, Constance. We'd better all leave it to you. The Byrds and Suffrage will benefit equally, I am sure."

"I will arrange it," she nodded smiling, her eyes narrowing, her slim hands dropping the jade beads from one to the other.

Farraday, knowing her for the moment lost to everything save her latest piece of stage management, left her, and joined the Byrds. He engaged himself to visit their studio the following week.

IX

Miss Mason was folding her knitting, and Mary sat in the firelight sewing diligently. Stefan was out in search of paints.

"I tell you what 'tis, Mary Elliston Byrd," said Miss Mason. "It's 'bout time you saw a doctor. My mother was a physician-homeopath, one of the first that ever graduated. Take my advice, and have a woman."

"I'd much rather," said Mary.

"I should say!" agreed the other. "I never was one to be against the men, but oh, my--" she threw up her bony little hands--"if there's one thing I never could abide it's a man doctor for woman's work. I s'pose I got started that way by what my mother told me of the medical students in her day. Anyway, it hardly seems Christian to me for a woman to go to a man doctor."

Mary laughed. "I wish my dear old Dad could have heard you. I remember he once refused to meet a woman doctor in consultation. She had to leave Lindum--no one would employ her. I was a child at the time, but even then it seemed all wrong to me."

"My dear, you thank the Lord you live under the Stars and Stripes,"

rejoined Miss Mason, who conceived of England as a place beyond the reach of liberty for either women or men.

"I shall live under the Tricolor if Stefan has his way," smiled Mary.

"Child," said her visitor, putting on her hat, "don't say it. Your husband's an elegant man--I admire him--but don't you ever let me hear he doesn't love his country."

"I'm certainly learning to love it myself," Mary discreetly evaded.

"You're too fine a woman not to," retorted the other. "Now I tell you.

I've been treated for my chest at the Women's and Children's Hospital.

There's one little doctor there's cute's she can be. I'm goin' to get you her address. You've got to treat yourself right. Good-bye," nodded the little woman; and was gone in her usual brisk fas.h.i.+on.

It was the day of Mr. Farraday's expected call, and Miss Mason had hardly departed when the bell rang. Mary hastily put away her sewing and pressed the electric b.u.t.ton which opened the downstairs door to visitors. She wished Stefan were back again to help her entertain the editor, and greeted him with apologies for her husband's absence. She was anxious that this man, whom she instinctively liked and trusted, should see her husband at his best. Seating Farraday in the Morris chair, she got him some tea, while he looked about with interest.

The two big pictures, "Tempest," and "Pursuit," now hung stretched but unframed, on either side of the room. Farraday's gaze kept returning to them.

"Those are his Beaux Arts pictures; extraordinary, aren't they?" said Mary, following his eyes.

"They certainly are. Remarkably powerful. I understand there is another, though, that he has only just finished?"

"Yes, it's on the easel, covered, you see," she answered. "Stefan must have the honor of showing you that himself."

"I wish you would tell me, Mrs. Byrd," said Farraday, changing the subject, "how you happened to write those verses? Had you been brought up with children, younger brothers and sisters, for instance?"

Mary shook her head. "No, I'm the younger of two. But I've always loved children more than anything in the world." She blushed, and Farraday, watching her, realized for the first time what a certain heightened radiance in her face betokened. He smiled very sweetly at her. She in her turn saw that he knew, and was glad. His manner seemed to enfold her in a mantle of comfort and understanding.

As they finished their tea, Stefan arrived. He entered gaily, greeted Farraday, and fell upon the tea, consuming two cups and several slices of bread and b.u.t.ter with the rapid concentration he gave to all his acts.

That finished, he leaped up and made for the easel.

"Now, Farraday," he cried, "you are going to see one of the finest modern paintings in the world. Why should I be modest about it? I'm not.

It's a masterpiece--Mary's and mine!"

Mary wished he had not included her. Though determined to overcome the feeling, she still shrank from having the picture shown in her presence.

Farraday placed himself in position, and Stefan threw back the cloth, watching the other's face with eagerness. The effect surpa.s.sed his expectation. The editor flushed, then gradually became quite pale. After a minute he turned rather abruptly from the canvas and faced Stefan.

"You are right, Mr. Byrd," he said, in an obviously controlled voice, "it _is_ a masterpiece. It will make your name and probably your fortune. It is one of the most magnificent modern paintings I have ever seen."

Mary beamed.

"Your praise honors me," said Stefan, genuinely delighted.