“Dear uncle!” sighed Mrs. Fetherel.  “Did he say that?”

“And now,” continued Mrs. 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. Gollinger, enthusiastically.  “But then, the Bishop has always assured me that your real nature was very different from that which—­if you will pardon my saying so—­seems to be revealed by your brilliant but—­er—­rather subversive book.  ’If you only knew my niece, dear Mrs. Gollinger,’ he always said, ’you would see that her novel was written in all innocence of heart;’ and to tell you the truth, when I first read the book I didn’t think it so very, very shocking.  It wasn’t till the dear Bishop had explained tome—­but, dear me, I mustn’t take up your time in this way when so many others are anxious to have a word with you.”

Mrs. Fetherel glanced at her in surprise, and Mrs. Gollinger continued, with a playful smile:  “You forget that your face is familiar to thousands whom you have never seen.  We all recognized you the moment you entered the train, and my friends here are so eager to make your acquaintance—­even those”—­her smile deepened—­“who thought the dear Bishop not quite unjustified in his attack on your remarkable novel.”

V

A religious light filled the chantry of Ossining Cathedral, filtering through the linen curtain which veiled the central window, and mingling with the blaze of tapers on the richly adorned altar.

In this devout atmosphere, agreeably laden with the incense-like aroma of Easter lilies and forced lilacs, Mrs. Fetherel knelt with a sense of luxurious satisfaction.  Beside her sat Archer Hynes, who had remembered that there was to be a church scene in his next novel, and that his impressions of the devotional environment needed refreshing.  Mrs. Fetherel was very happy.  She was conscious that her entrance had sent a thrill through the female devotees who packed the chantry, and she had humor enough to enjoy the thought that, but for the good Bishop’s denunciation of her book, the heads of his flock would not have been turned so eagerly in her direction.  Moreover, as she had entered she had caught sight of a society reporter, and she knew that her presence, and the fact that she was accompanied by Hynes, would be conspicuously proclaimed in the morning papers.  All these evidences of the success of her handiwork might have turned a calmer head than Mrs. Fetherel’s; and though she had now learned to dissemble her gratification, it still filled her inwardly with a delightful glow.