Green Doors

by Ethel Cook Eliot

But if Dick had only noticed, his belated mention of the girl’s name had effectually changed his friend’s expression.

“Is it Petra Farwell you’re talking about?” he asked quickly. “Daughter of Lowell Farwell, the novelist?”

Dick hesitated an instant, glancing a little painfully at Miss Frazier’s efficient hand with its pen poised but so far idle—above her pad. But after all, Miss Frazier’s presence at this conference was Lewis’ responsibility, and one had to trust Lewis.

So he said, “Yes. It’s the Farwells. I thought you would guess. You know I built their house, Green Doors. We started it the minute they were back from the honeymoon. Clare made Featherstone’s give me a free hand with it. It was my first real chance at self expression. But Clare had as many ideas as I had and the nice part was that our ideas didn’t clash—merely supplemented. Until that summer I had only known Clare socially and even so not very well. She is in an older crowd. It’s an interesting crowd. The Lovings, you know,—the Stracheys, Jim Strange, Isabell Peters Clough. Rather exciting, being accepted by them! Clare sees to it that I am. And Lowell Farwell is the lion of the lot, I suppose. Clare herself ought to be. Wait till you meet her!”

“I have met Mrs. Farwell, once, for a few minutes,” Lewis said. “She was Mrs. Tom Otis then. It was just before the former Mrs. Farwell abdicated. But it’s Petra, the girl, I’m interested to hear about. Is she prepared to come to a psychiatrist for treatment for—what do you say the trouble is? General lack of appropriate feeling toward the latest Mrs. Novelist’s Wife? Or hasn’t she been consulted?”

“You keep on laughing at us,” Dick complained. “If I were a stranger, would you? Yes, I knew about that meeting with Clare, of course. But I meant, wait till you really know her. Clare hasn’t said a word about you to Petra, not yet. Petra would be sure to resent it, don’t you think? What Clare wants is to have it come about—gradually. If you’re week-ending at Cynthia’s, right there in Meadowbrook, you can drop around at Green Doors, meet the family, have tea informally in the garden, chat with Petra,—and let that call seem to put the idea of having Petra psychoanalyzed into Clare’s head. That way, Petra might get the idea that being psychoanalyzed by Doctor Lewis Pryne would be a pretty interesting experience, do you see? That’s Clare’s scheme and I think it’s a good one.”

Lewis, lighting himself another cigarette, murmured, “Good is an adjective that I myself seldom apply to the word ‘scheme.’ But it happens that I’ll like meeting Lowell Farwell. His psychological novels interest me—at least, to the point of wanting to find out how he gets that way. Even more I shall be glad of an excuse to see Petra again. I met her at the same time I met your Mrs. Clare. By the way, Mrs. Clare is Petra’s second or third stepmother, isn’t she! Mightn’t it be that the child’s stand-offish attitude toward the species is cumulative and not, strictly speaking, personal? Had that occurred to either of you?... But it doesn’t matter. I’m charmed by the invitation to tea at Green Doors. It’s only fair, though, that you should warn Mrs. Farwell that it cannot, not possibly, be a professional call. And just remind yourself, will you, Dick, if only now and then, that I’m not a psychoanalyst. It always annoys me a little, being called one.”

“Sorry. Yes, I do know, of course. But the differences are too slight for the laity to master. Then you will come for tea? That’s fine. All we wanted, as a start-off, really. Clare knows you won’t be lionized and I can promise you it will be informal. Shall we say Saturday afternoon? It’ll be just the Farwells themselves and me. I’m there such a lot, I’m almost family,” he added, flushing a little.

Dick was ready to get out now and give place to Mrs. Dickerman and Mr. McCloud. But he had a diffident feeling that since this was actually a professional seance he had been having with Lewis, it was up to Lewis to bring it to an end. And Lewis had not stirred in his chair. He was saying, “I’ll like seeing your work with that house, too. I’ve meant to get Cynthia to take me over, ever since you finished it. Why do they call it Green Doors?”

Lewis’ gaze, as he spoke, was still attached to the knob on Miss Frazier’s door. Dick, now that he had secured part of what Clare wanted and was no longer anxious, was looking at his friend with an increasing discernment in his vision.