"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 Gainsborough plumes across Mrs. Fetherel's face. The first speaker's words had carried beyond her companion's ear, and a lemon-colored woman in spectacles, who clutched a copy of the "Journal of Psychology" on one drab-cotton-gloved hand, stretched her disengaged hand across the intervening barrier of humanity. "Have I the privilege of addressing the distinguished author of 'Fast and Loose'? If so, let me thank you in the name of the Woman's Psychological League of Peoria for your magnificent courage in raising the standard of revolt against--" "You can tell us the rest in the car," said a fat man, pressing his good-humored bulk against the speaker's arm. Mrs. Fetherel, blushing, embarrassed and happy, slipped into the space produced by this displacement, and a few moments later had taken her seat in the train. She was a little late, and the other chairs were already filled by a company of elderly ladies and clergymen who seemed to belong to the same party, and were still busy exchanging greetings and settling themselves in their places.