“Yes, indeed,” she smiled, “they have no rivals for my Art and Beauty cages.”
“And what about the literary circus? I suppose you have been making Mrs. Byrd roar overtime?”
Their hostess looked puzzled.
“Don't tell me that you are in ignorance of her status as the Household Company's latest find?” he ejaculated 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.