Julia nudged me, and I looked at her. She frowned and bobbed her head in Galsworthy’s direction. I knew what she wanted, but short of clapping my hand over the man’s mouth and shoving him into a closet, I didn’t know how to shut him up. We could simply have turned and walked away, but generations of Southern grandmothers would spin in their graves if we behaved so rudely. That was the curse of being raised to have good manners and to treat one’s elders with respect—no matter how irritating they were.

I tuned back in at the sound of Godfrey’s name.

“. . . a sad example of a young man with a good mind—a good mind, you understand, not a fine one—but, yes, a young man with a good mind who could have accomplished something more lasting than such ephemera as he chose to create. Then there is his appalling portrayal of females in his work. One has little doubt that a psychiatrist could have helped the poor boy work through his obvious feelings of hatred toward women. Yet I have no doubt that his female readers little suspected his opinion of them.”

I exchanged amused glances with Julia. Galsworthy had obviously read some of Godfrey’s work, though one wondered why he had allowed his intellect to be sullied by entertainment of such dubious value to mankind.

Galsworthy blathered on, but I could see that Andrea Ferris was about ready to pop. She cut him off suddenly in mid-sentence.

“I’ll be delighted to share your observations of contemporary publishing with my colleagues in New York,” Andrea said, her tone deceptively sweet. “I have little doubt they will respond immediately by pulping anything that smacks of lowbrow entertainment and instead start printing—in huge quantities, of course—works that cannot fail to enlighten and transform. This will revolutionize publishing around the world, and your name, professor, will be on everyone’s lips.”

After his initial shock at being interrupted, Galsworthy appeared delighted to have his opinions received so well. But Andrea’s tone altered as she spoke, becoming more waspish by the syllable, until even Galsworthy had to recognize the sarcasm.

“Good day to you, young woman.” Galsworthy glared at Andrea, and so upset was he that he failed to include Julia and me in his farewell.

Julia and I both sighed audibly as he stalked off.

“What a pretentious snot,” Andrea said. She sniffed. “If I had a dollar for every one of his kind I’ve met, I could retire.” She turned to me and stuck out her hand. “Andrea Ferris, the late Godfrey Priest’s agent.”

“Charlie Harris,” I said. “Archivist here at the college. Like Mrs. Wardlaw, I went to school with Godfrey eons ago.”

Andrea nodded, her eyes on Julia. “You’re the mother of his son, aren’t you?”