Part 58 (1/2)
It is possible that Father Frontford, with all his decision, might have been unable to prevent some demonstration, but Dr. Wilson quietly remarked to his wife:--
”Elsie, we've had enough of this bishop racket. I'm devilish tired of the whole thing, and I wish you'd find a new amus.e.m.e.nt.”
”But, Chauncy,” she responded, ”think how maddening it is to be beaten!
And as for that Fred Rangely, I could dig out his eyes and pour in hot lead!”
Wilson chuckled gleefully.
”You played your private theatricals just a little prematurely. It was devilish clever of him to get back at you that way; but that letter has made newspaper talk enough about you, and you'd better drop church politics. Isn't it time to get your stud into shape for the summer?”
Elsie shrugged her shoulders.
”I don't know. I hate to give it up while there's a fighting chance.
The campaign has been a lot of fun. However, I suppose you are right.
You have a dreadfully aggravating way of being. Besides, I am pretty tired of parsons, and horses wear better.”
She therefore managed to secure a visiting English duke with a characteristically shady reputation, gave the most brilliant dinner of the season in his honor, and retired to her country place in a blaze of glory; finding some consolation for all her disappointments in the purchase of a couple of new racers with pedigrees far longer than that of the duke.
Easter came that year almost at its earliest, and it was therefore found possible to have the consecration of the new bishop in June. To it were a.s.sembled all the dignitaries of the church. Boston for a couple of days overflowed with men in ecclesiastical garb; and if the general public was not deeply stirred by the importance of the event, all those connected with it were full of interest and excitement.
Mrs. Wilson surprised her friends by returning to town and reopening her house for the consecration week. She announced to her husband her intention of doing this as they sat in the library at their country place while Dr. Wilson smoked his final pipe for the night. They had been dining out, and had driven home in the moonlight, chatting of the people they had seen and the gossip they had heard. Elsie was in high spirits, amusing her husband by her satirical remarks. At last she said:--
”I hope, Chauncy, you won't mind if I go off for a week.”
”Off for a week? Where are you going?”
”Into town to open the house for the consecration of the great Bishop Strathmore.”
”Well,” her husband said, laughing, ”I like your grit. If you can't win, you won't show the white feather.”
She laughed in turn, as gleefully and as musically as a child.
”I'm going for revenge.”
”Oh, that's it. Is Rangely to die?”
”Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any time. It's better fun than that.”
”Well, let's hear.”
”You know that Marion Delega.s.s is to end her season with a week in Boston.”
”Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think.”
”Oh, no; I'm going to meet her.”
”Marion Delega.s.s, the most notoriously disreputable actress even on the French stage? Well, she'll be a change from your parsons.”
”Luckily her last week is the week of the consecration of the heathen.”