Channing said, much amused, "Actors don't bite, my dear child. Farwell's a gentleman. And I am here to protect you."
She still felt uneasy. Her experience of actors had been confined to the barn-stormers who occasionally drifted into the nearest town and out again as speedily as possible. Though the theatres of Frankfort and Lexington were only a few hours away, they belonged to the life Mrs. Kildare shunned.
"At least he's married," murmured Jacqueline with some relief. "Is she on the stage, too? Will I like her?"
"His wife? Oh, Mrs. Farwell never comes here, you know. It's a bachelor place. That's why he calls it Holiday Hill."
"Dear me!" she said, puzzled. "Don't they like each other, then?"
"Very much, I believe. It's an extremely comfortable arrangement. She makes her engagements, he makes his; all very friendly and no questions asked. Quite the ideal match."
Jacqueline looked doubtful. "But what about the children?"
"Oh, there aren't any children, of course. Fancy May Farwell with children!"
"But if people are going to live that way, what is the use of getting married?"
"There is none," said Channing, earnestly. "Believe me, there is none. Many have made that discovery. I mean to profit by their example."