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-*The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Age of Innocence by Wharton*
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-The Age of Innocence
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-by Edith Wharton
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-
-The Age of Innocence
-by Edith Wharton
-
-
-
-
-
-
-Book I
-
-
-
-I.
-
-On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine
-Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of
-Music in New York.
-
-Though there was already talk of the erection, in
-remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of
-a new Opera House which should compete in costliness
-and splendour with those of the great European capitals,
-the world of fashion was still content to reassemble
-every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of
-the sociable old Academy.  Conservatives cherished it
-for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out
-the "new people" whom New York was beginning to
-dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung
-to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its
-excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in
-halls built for the hearing of music.
-
-It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that
-winter, and what the daily press had already learned to
-describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had
-gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery,
-snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious
-family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient
-"Brown coupe." To come to the Opera in a Brown
-coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving
-as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same
-means had the immense advantage of enabling one
-(with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to
-scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line,
-instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose
-of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of
-the Academy.  It was one of the great livery-stableman's
-most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans
-want to get away from amusement even more
-quickly than they want to get to it.
-
-When Newland Archer opened the door at the back
-of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the
-garden scene.  There was no reason why the young man
-should not have come earlier, for he had dined at
-seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered
-afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with
-glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs
-which was the only room in the house where Mrs.
-Archer allowed smoking.  But, in the first place, New
-York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in
-metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at
-the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played
-a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as
-the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies
-of his forefathers thousands of years ago.
-
-The second reason for his delay was a personal one.
-He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart
-a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often
-gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation.  This
-was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate
-one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this
-occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare
-and exquisite in quality that--well, if he had timed his
-arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager
-he could not have entered the Academy at a more
-significant moment than just as she was singing:  "He
-loves me--he loves me not--HE LOVES ME!--" and
-sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as
-dew.
-
-She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves
-me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the
-musical world required that the German text of French
-operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated
-into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-
-speaking audiences.  This seemed as natural to Newland
-Archer as all the other conventions on which his life
-was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-
-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to
-part his hair, and of never appearing in society without
-a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.
-
-"M'ama . . . non m'ama . . . " the prima donna sang,
-and "M'ama!", with a final burst of love triumphant,
-as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and
-lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of
-the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying,
-in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to
-look as pure and true as his artless victim.
-
-Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back
-of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and
-scanned the opposite side of the house.  Directly facing
-him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose
-monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible
-for her to attend the Opera, but who was always
-represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger
-members of the family.  On this occasion, the front
-of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs.
-Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and
-slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat
-a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the
-stagelovers.  As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled
-out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped
-talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted
-to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her
-fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast
-to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened
-with a single gardenia.  She dropped her eyes to the
-immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee,
-and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips
-touch the flowers softly.  He drew a breath of satisfied
-vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.
-
-No expense had been spared on the setting, which
-was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people
-who shared his acquaintance with the Opera houses of
-Paris and Vienna.  The foreground, to the footlights,
-was covered with emerald green cloth.  In the middle
-distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss
-bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs
-shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink
-and red roses.  Gigantic pansies, considerably larger
-than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-
-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable
-clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-
-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-
-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr.
-Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.
-
-In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame
-Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin,
-a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow
-braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin
-chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's
-impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension
-of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he
-persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the
-neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.
-
-"The darling!" thought Newland Archer, his glance
-flitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the-
-valley.  "She doesn't even guess what it's all about."
-And he contemplated her absorbed young face with a
-thrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine
-initiation was mingled with a tender reverence for
-her abysmal purity.  "We'll read Faust together . . . by
-the Italian lakes . . ." he thought, somewhat hazily
-confusing the scene of his projected honey-moon with
-the masterpieces of literature which it would be his
-manly privilege to reveal to his bride.  It was only that
-afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she
-"cared" (New York's consecrated phrase of maiden
-avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of
-the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march
-from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene
-of old European witchery.
-
-He did not in the least wish the future Mrs. Newland
-Archer to be a simpleton.  He meant her (thanks to his
-enlightening companionship) to develop a social tact
-and readiness of wit enabling her to hold her own with
-the most popular married women of the "younger set,"
-in which it was the recognised custom to attract masculine
-homage while playfully discouraging it.  If he had
-probed to the bottom of his vanity (as he sometimes
-nearly did) he would have found there the wish that his
-wife should be as worldly-wise and as eager to please
-as the married lady whose charms had held his fancy
-through two mildly agitated years; without, of course,
-any hint of the frailty which had so nearly marred that
-unhappy being's life, and had disarranged his own
-plans for a whole winter.
-
-How this miracle of fire and ice was to be created,
-and to sustain itself in a harsh world, he had never
-taken the time to think out; but he was content to hold
-his view without analysing it, since he knew it was that
-of all the carefully-brushed, white-waistcoated, button-
-hole-flowered gentlemen who succeeded each other in
-the club box, exchanged friendly greetings with him,
-and turned their opera-glasses critically on the circle of
-ladies who were the product of the system.  In matters
-intellectual and artistic Newland Archer felt himself
-distinctly the superior of these chosen specimens of old
-New York gentility; he had probably read more, thought
-more, and even seen a good deal more of the world,
-than any other man of the number.  Singly they betrayed
-their inferiority; but grouped together they represented
-"New York," and the habit of masculine solidarity
-made him accept their doctrine on all the issues called
-moral.  He instinctively felt that in this respect it would
-be troublesome--and also rather bad form--to strike
-out for himself.
-
-"Well--upon my soul!" exclaimed Lawrence Lefferts,
-turning his opera-glass abruptly away from the stage.
-Lawrence Lefferts was, on the whole, the foremost
-authority on "form" in New York.  He had probably
-devoted more time than any one else to the study of
-this intricate and fascinating question; but study alone
-could not account for his complete and easy competence.
-One had only to look at him, from the slant of
-his bald forehead and the curve of his beautiful fair
-moustache to the long patent-leather feet at the other
-end of his lean and elegant person, to feel that the
-knowledge of "form" must be congenital in any one
-who knew how to wear such good clothes so carelessly
-and carry such height with so much lounging grace.  As
-a young admirer had once said of him:  "If anybody can
-tell a fellow just when to wear a black tie with evening
-clothes and when not to, it's Larry Lefferts."  And on
-the question of pumps versus patent-leather "Oxfords"
-his authority had never been disputed.
-
-"My God!" he said; and silently handed his glass to
-old Sillerton Jackson.
-
-Newland Archer, following Lefferts's glance, saw with
-surprise that his exclamation had been occasioned by
-the entry of a new figure into old Mrs. Mingott's box.
-It was that of a slim young woman, a little less tall than
-May Welland, with brown hair growing in close curls
-about her temples and held in place by a narrow band
-of diamonds.  The suggestion of this headdress, which
-gave her what was then called a "Josephine look," was
-carried out in the cut of the dark blue velvet gown
-rather theatrically caught up under her bosom by a
-girdle with a large old-fashioned clasp.  The wearer of
-this unusual dress, who seemed quite unconscious of
-the attention it was attracting, stood a moment in the
-centre of the box, discussing with Mrs. Welland the
-propriety of taking the latter's place in the front right-
-hand corner; then she yielded with a slight smile, and
-seated herself in line with Mrs. Welland's sister-in-law,
-Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who was installed in the opposite
-corner.
-
-Mr. Sillerton Jackson had returned the opera-glass to
-Lawrence Lefferts.  The whole of the club turned
-instinctively, waiting to hear what the old man had to
-say; for old Mr. Jackson was as great an authority on
-"family" as Lawrence Lefferts was on "form."  He knew
-all the ramifications of New York's cousinships; and
-could not only elucidate such complicated questions as
-that of the connection between the Mingotts (through
-the Thorleys) with the Dallases of South Carolina, and
-that of the relationship of the elder branch of Philadelphia
-Thorleys to the Albany Chiverses (on no account
-to be confused with the Manson Chiverses of University
-Place), but could also enumerate the leading characteristics
-of each family: as, for instance, the fabulous
-stinginess of the younger lines of Leffertses (the Long
-Island ones); or the fatal tendency of the Rushworths
-to make foolish matches; or the insanity recurring in
-every second generation of the Albany Chiverses, with
-whom their New York cousins had always refused to
-intermarry--with the disastrous exception of poor
-Medora Manson, who, as everybody knew . . . but
-then her mother was a Rushworth.
-
-In addition to this forest of family trees, Mr. Sillerton
-Jackson carried between his narrow hollow temples,
-and under his soft thatch of silver hair, a register of
-most of the scandals and mysteries that had smouldered
-under the unruffled surface of New York society
-within the last fifty years.  So far indeed did his
-information extend, and so acutely retentive was his
-memory, that he was supposed to be the only man who
-could have told you who Julius Beaufort, the banker,
-really was, and what had become of handsome Bob
-Spicer, old Mrs. Manson Mingott's father, who had
-disappeared so mysteriously (with a large sum of trust
-money) less than a year after his marriage, on the very
-day that a beautiful Spanish dancer who had been
-delighting thronged audiences in the old Opera-house
-on the Battery had taken ship for Cuba.  But these
-mysteries, and many others, were closely locked in Mr.
-Jackson's breast; for not only did his keen sense of
-honour forbid his repeating anything privately imparted,
-but he was fully aware that his reputation for discretion
-increased his opportunities of finding out what he
-wanted to know.
-
-The club box, therefore, waited in visible suspense
-while Mr. Sillerton Jackson handed back Lawrence
-Lefferts's opera-glass.  For a moment he silently scrutinised
-the attentive group out of his filmy blue eyes
-overhung by old veined lids; then he gave his moustache
-a thoughtful twist, and said simply:  "I didn't
-think the Mingotts would have tried it on."
-
-
-
-II.
-
-Newland Archer, during this brief episode, had
-been thrown into a strange state of embarrassment.
-
-It was annoying that the box which was thus attracting
-the undivided attention of masculine New York
-should be that in which his betrothed was seated
-between her mother and aunt; and for a moment he
-could not identify the lady in the Empire dress, nor
-imagine why her presence created such excitement among
-the initiated.  Then light dawned on him, and with it
-came a momentary rush of indignation.  No, indeed; no
-one would have thought the Mingotts would have tried
-it on!
-
-But they had; they undoubtedly had; for the low-
-toned comments behind him left no doubt in Archer's
-mind that the young woman was May Welland's cousin,
-the cousin always referred to in the family as "poor
-Ellen Olenska."  Archer knew that she had suddenly
-arrived from Europe a day or two previously; he had
-even heard from Miss Welland (not disapprovingly)
-that she had been to see poor Ellen, who was staying
-with old Mrs. Mingott.  Archer entirely approved of
-family solidarity, and one of the qualities he most
-admired in the Mingotts was their resolute championship
-of the few black sheep that their blameless stock
-had produced.  There was nothing mean or ungenerous
-in the young man's heart, and he was glad that his
-future wife should not be restrained by false prudery
-from being kind (in private) to her unhappy cousin; but
-to receive Countess Olenska in the family circle was a
-different thing from producing her in public, at the
-Opera of all places, and in the very box with the young
-girl whose engagement to him, Newland Archer, was
-to be announced within a few weeks.  No, he felt as old
-Sillerton Jackson felt; he did not think the Mingotts
-would have tried it on!
-
-He knew, of course, that whatever man dared (within
-Fifth Avenue's limits) that old Mrs. Manson Mingott,
-the Matriarch of the line, would dare.  He had always
-admired the high and mighty old lady, who, in spite of
-having been only Catherine Spicer of Staten Island,
-with a father mysteriously discredited, and neither money
-nor position enough to make people forget it, had
-allied herself with the head of the wealthy Mingott line,
-married two of her daughters to "foreigners" (an Italian
-marquis and an English banker), and put the crowning
-touch to her audacities by building a large house of
-pale cream-coloured stone (when brown sandstone
-seemed as much the only wear as a frock-coat in the
-afternoon) in an inaccessible wilderness near the
-Central Park.
-
-Old Mrs. Mingott's foreign daughters had become a
-legend.  They never came back to see their mother, and
-the latter being, like many persons of active mind and
-dominating will, sedentary and corpulent in her habit,
-had philosophically remained at home.  But the cream-
-coloured house (supposed to be modelled on the private
-hotels of the Parisian aristocracy) was there as a
-visible proof of her moral courage; and she throned in
-it, among pre-Revolutionary furniture and souvenirs of
-the Tuileries of Louis Napoleon (where she had shone
-in her middle age), as placidly as if there were nothing
-peculiar in living above Thirty-fourth Street, or in having
-French windows that opened like doors instead of
-sashes that pushed up.
-
-Every one (including Mr. Sillerton Jackson) was agreed
-that old Catherine had never had beauty--a gift which,
-in the eyes of New York, justified every success, and
-excused a certain number of failings.  Unkind people
-said that, like her Imperial namesake, she had won her
-way to success by strength of will and hardness of
-heart, and a kind of haughty effrontery that was somehow
-justified by the extreme decency and dignity of her
-private life.  Mr. Manson Mingott had died when she
-was only twenty-eight, and had "tied up" the money
-with an additional caution born of the general distrust
-of the Spicers; but his bold young widow went her way
-fearlessly, mingled freely in foreign society, married her
-daughters in heaven knew what corrupt and fashionable
-circles, hobnobbed with Dukes and Ambassadors,
-associated familiarly with Papists, entertained Opera
-singers, and was the intimate friend of Mme. Taglioni;
-and all the while (as Sillerton Jackson was the first to
-proclaim) there had never been a breath on her reputation;
-the only respect, he always added, in which she
-differed from the earlier Catherine.
-
-Mrs. Manson Mingott had long since succeeded in
-untying her husband's fortune, and had lived in affluence
-for half a century; but memories of her early
-straits had made her excessively thrifty, and though,
-when she bought a dress or a piece of furniture, she
-took care that it should be of the best, she could not
-bring herself to spend much on the transient pleasures
-of the table.  Therefore, for totally different reasons, her
-food was as poor as Mrs. Archer's, and her wines did
-nothing to redeem it.  Her relatives considered that the
-penury of her table discredited the Mingott name, which
-had always been associated with good living; but people
-continued to come to her in spite of the "made
-dishes" and flat champagne, and in reply to the
-remonstrances of her son Lovell (who tried to retrieve the
-family credit by having the best chef in New York) she
-used to say laughingly:  "What's the use of two good
-cooks in one family, now that I've married the girls and
-can't eat sauces?"
-
-Newland Archer, as he mused on these things, had
-once more turned his eyes toward the Mingott box.  He
-saw that Mrs. Welland and her sister-in-law were facing
-their semicircle of critics with the Mingottian APLOMB
-which old Catherine had inculcated in all her tribe, and
-that only May Welland betrayed, by a heightened colour
-(perhaps due to the knowledge that he was watching
-her) a sense of the gravity of the situation.  As for
-the cause of the commotion, she sat gracefully in her
-corner of the box, her eyes fixed on the stage, and
-revealing, as she leaned forward, a little more shoulder
-and bosom than New York was accustomed to seeing,
-at least in ladies who had reasons for wishing to pass
-unnoticed.
-
-Few things seemed to Newland Archer more awful
-than an offence against "Taste," that far-off divinity of
-whom "Form" was the mere visible representative and
-vicegerent.  Madame Olenska's pale and serious face
-appealed to his fancy as suited to the occasion and to
-her unhappy situation; but the way her dress (which
-had no tucker) sloped away from her thin shoulders
-shocked and troubled him.  He hated to think of May
-Welland's being exposed to the influence of a young
-woman so careless of the dictates of Taste.
-
-"After all," he heard one of the younger men begin
-behind him (everybody talked through the Mephistopheles-
-and-Martha scenes), "after all, just WHAT happened?"
-
-"Well--she left him; nobody attempts to deny that."
-
-"He's an awful brute, isn't he?" continued the young
-enquirer, a candid Thorley, who was evidently preparing
-to enter the lists as the lady's champion.
-
-"The very worst; I knew him at Nice," said
-Lawrence Lefferts with authority.  "A half-paralysed white
-sneering fellow--rather handsome head, but eyes with
-a lot of lashes.  Well, I'll tell you the sort: when he
-wasn't with women he was collecting china.  Paying any
-price for both, I understand."
-
-There was a general laugh, and the young champion
-said:  "Well, then----?"
-
-"Well, then; she bolted with his secretary."
-
-"Oh, I see."  The champion's face fell.
-
-"It didn't last long, though: I heard of her a few
-months later living alone in Venice.  I believe Lovell
-Mingott went out to get her.  He said she was desperately
-unhappy.  That's all right--but this parading her
-at the Opera's another thing."
-
-"Perhaps," young Thorley hazarded, "she's too
-unhappy to be left at home."
-
-This was greeted with an irreverent laugh, and the
-youth blushed deeply, and tried to look as if he had
-meant to insinuate what knowing people called a "double
-entendre."
-
-"Well--it's queer to have brought Miss Welland,
-anyhow," some one said in a low tone, with a side-
-glance at Archer.
-
-"Oh, that's part of the campaign: Granny's orders,
-no doubt," Lefferts laughed.  "When the old lady does
-a thing she does it thoroughly."
-
-The act was ending, and there was a general stir in
-the box.  Suddenly Newland Archer felt himself
-impelled to decisive action.  The desire to be the first man
-to enter Mrs. Mingott's box, to proclaim to the waiting
-world his engagement to May Welland, and to see her
-through whatever difficulties her cousin's anomalous
-situation might involve her in; this impulse had abruptly
-overruled all scruples and hesitations, and sent him
-hurrying through the red corridors to the farther side
-of the house.
-
-As he entered the box his eyes met Miss Welland's,
-and he saw that she had instantly understood his motive,
-though the family dignity which both considered
-so high a virtue would not permit her to tell him so.
-The persons of their world lived in an atmosphere of
-faint implications and pale delicacies, and the fact that
-he and she understood each other without a word
-seemed to the young man to bring them nearer than
-any explanation would have done.  Her eyes said:  "You
-see why Mamma brought me," and his answered:  "I
-would not for the world have had you stay away."
-
-"You know my niece Countess Olenska?" Mrs. Welland
-enquired as she shook hands with her future son-
-in-law.  Archer bowed without extending his hand, as
-was the custom on being introduced to a lady; and
-Ellen Olenska bent her head slightly, keeping her own
-pale-gloved hands clasped on her huge fan of eagle
-feathers.  Having greeted Mrs. Lovell Mingott, a large
-blonde lady in creaking satin, he sat down beside his
-betrothed, and said in a low tone:  "I hope you've told
-Madame Olenska that we're engaged?  I want everybody
-to know--I want you to let me announce it this
-evening at the ball."
-
-Miss Welland's face grew rosy as the dawn, and she
-looked at him with radiant eyes.  "If you can persuade
-Mamma," she said; "but why should we change what
-is already settled?"  He made no answer but that which
-his eyes returned, and she added, still more confidently
-smiling:  "Tell my cousin yourself: I give you leave.  She
-says she used to play with you when you were children."
-
-She made way for him by pushing back her chair,
-and promptly, and a little ostentatiously, with the
-desire that the whole house should see what he was
-doing, Archer seated himself at the Countess Olenska's
-side.
-
-"We DID use to play together, didn't we?" she asked,
-turning her grave eyes to his.  "You were a horrid boy,
-and kissed me once behind a door; but it was your
-cousin Vandie Newland, who never looked at me, that
-I was in love with."  Her glance swept the horse-shoe
-curve of boxes.  "Ah, how this brings it all back to
-me--I see everybody here in knickerbockers and pantalettes,"
-she said, with her trailing slightly foreign accent,
-her eyes returning to his face.
-
-Agreeable as their expression was, the young man
-was shocked that they should reflect so unseemly a
-picture of the august tribunal before which, at that very
-moment, her case was being tried.  Nothing could be in
-worse taste than misplaced flippancy; and he answered
-somewhat stiffly:  "Yes, you have been away a very
-long time."
-
-"Oh, centuries and centuries; so long," she said,
-"that I'm sure I'm dead and buried, and this dear old
-place is heaven;" which, for reasons he could not
-define, struck Newland Archer as an even more
-disrespectful way of describing New York society.
-
-
-
-III.
-
-It invariably happened in the same way.
-
-Mrs. Julius Beaufort, on the night of her annual
-ball, never failed to appear at the Opera; indeed, she
-always gave her ball on an Opera night in order to
-emphasise her complete superiority to household cares,
-and her possession of a staff of servants competent to
-organise every detail of the entertainment in her absence.
-
-The Beauforts' house was one of the few in New
-York that possessed a ball-room (it antedated even
-Mrs. Manson Mingott's and the Headly Chiverses');
-and at a time when it was beginning to be thought
-"provincial" to put a "crash" over the drawing-room
-floor and move the furniture upstairs, the possession of
-a ball-room that was used for no other purpose, and left
-for three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year to
-shuttered darkness, with its gilt chairs stacked in a
-corner and its chandelier in a bag; this undoubted
-superiority was felt to compensate for whatever was
-regrettable in the Beaufort past.
-
-Mrs. Archer, who was fond of coining her social
-philosophy into axioms, had once said:  "We all have
-our pet common people--" and though the phrase was
-a daring one, its truth was secretly admitted in many
-an exclusive bosom.  But the Beauforts were not exactly
-common; some people said they were even worse.  Mrs.
-Beaufort belonged indeed to one of America's most
-honoured families; she had been the lovely Regina Dallas
-(of the South Carolina branch), a penniless beauty
-introduced to New York society by her cousin, the
-imprudent Medora Manson, who was always doing the
-wrong thing from the right motive.  When one was
-related to the Mansons and the Rushworths one had a
-"droit de cite" (as Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who had
-frequented the Tuileries, called it) in New York society;
-but did one not forfeit it in marrying Julius Beaufort?
-
-The question was: who was Beaufort?  He passed for
-an Englishman, was agreeable, handsome, ill-tempered,
-hospitable and witty.  He had come to America with
-letters of recommendation from old Mrs. Manson
-Mingott's English son-in-law, the banker, and had speedily
-made himself an important position in the world of
-affairs; but his habits were dissipated, his tongue was
-bitter, his antecedents were mysterious; and when
-Medora Manson announced her cousin's engagement
-to him it was felt to be one more act of folly in poor
-Medora's long record of imprudences.
-
-But folly is as often justified of her children as
-wisdom, and two years after young Mrs. Beaufort's marriage
-it was admitted that she had the most distinguished
-house in New York.  No one knew exactly how the
-miracle was accomplished.  She was indolent, passive,
-the caustic even called her dull; but dressed like an
-idol, hung with pearls, growing younger and blonder
-and more beautiful each year, she throned in Mr. Beaufort's
-heavy brown-stone palace, and drew all the world
-there without lifting her jewelled little finger.  The knowing
-people said it was Beaufort himself who trained the
-servants, taught the chef new dishes, told the gardeners
-what hot-house flowers to grow for the dinner-table
-and the drawing-rooms, selected the guests, brewed the
-after-dinner punch and dictated the little notes his wife
-wrote to her friends.  If he did, these domestic activities
-were privately performed, and he presented to the world
-the appearance of a careless and hospitable millionaire
-strolling into his own drawing-room with the detachment
-of an invited guest, and saying:  "My wife's gloxinias
-are a marvel, aren't they?  I believe she gets them
-out from Kew."
-
-Mr. Beaufort's secret, people were agreed, was the
-way he carried things off.  It was all very well to whisper
-that he had been "helped" to leave England by the
-international banking-house in which he had been
-employed; he carried off that rumour as easily as the
-rest--though New York's business conscience was no
-less sensitive than its moral standard--he carried
-everything before him, and all New York into his drawing-
-rooms, and for over twenty years now people had said
-they were "going to the Beauforts'" with the same
-tone of security as if they had said they were going to
-Mrs. Manson Mingott's, and with the added satisfaction
-of knowing they would get hot canvas-back ducks
-and vintage wines, instead of tepid Veuve Clicquot
-without a year and warmed-up croquettes from Philadelphia.
-
-Mrs. Beaufort, then, had as usual appeared in her
-box just before the Jewel Song; and when, again as
-usual, she rose at the end of the third act, drew her
-opera cloak about her lovely shoulders, and disappeared,
-New York knew that meant that half an hour
-later the ball would begin.
-
-The Beaufort house was one that New Yorkers were
-proud to show to foreigners, especially on the night of
-the annual ball.  The Beauforts had been among the
-first people in New York to own their own red velvet
-carpet and have it rolled down the steps by their own
-footmen, under their own awning, instead of hiring it
-with the supper and the ball-room chairs.  They had
-also inaugurated the custom of letting the ladies take
-their cloaks off in the hall, instead of shuffling up to
-the hostess's bedroom and recurling their hair with the
-aid of the gas-burner; Beaufort was understood to have
-said that he supposed all his wife's friends had maids
-who saw to it that they were properly coiffees when
-they left home.
-
-Then the house had been boldly planned with a
-ball-room, so that, instead of squeezing through a narrow
-passage to get to it (as at the Chiverses') one
-marched solemnly down a vista of enfiladed drawing-
-rooms (the sea-green, the crimson and the bouton d'or),
-seeing from afar the many-candled lustres reflected in
-the polished parquetry, and beyond that the depths of a
-conservatory where camellias and tree-ferns arched their
-costly foliage over seats of black and gold bamboo.
-
-Newland Archer, as became a young man of his
-position, strolled in somewhat late.  He had left his
-overcoat with the silk-stockinged footmen (the stockings
-were one of Beaufort's few fatuities), had dawdled
-a while in the library hung with Spanish leather and
-furnished with Buhl and malachite, where a few men
-were chatting and putting on their dancing-gloves, and
-had finally joined the line of guests whom Mrs. Beaufort
-was receiving on the threshold of the crimson
-drawing-room.
-
-Archer was distinctly nervous.  He had not gone back
-to his club after the Opera (as the young bloods usually
-did), but, the night being fine, had walked for some
-distance up Fifth Avenue before turning back in the
-direction of the Beauforts' house.  He was definitely
-afraid that the Mingotts might be going too far; that,
-in fact, they might have Granny Mingott's orders to
-bring the Countess Olenska to the ball.
-
-From the tone of the club box he had perceived how
-grave a mistake that would be; and, though he was
-more than ever determined to "see the thing through,"
-he felt less chivalrously eager to champion his betrothed's
-cousin than before their brief talk at the Opera.
-
-Wandering on to the bouton d'or drawing-room
-(where Beaufort had had the audacity to hang "Love
-Victorious," the much-discussed nude of Bouguereau)
-Archer found Mrs. Welland and her daughter standing
-near the ball-room door.  Couples were already gliding
-over the floor beyond: the light of the wax candles fell
-on revolving tulle skirts, on girlish heads wreathed with
-modest blossoms, on the dashing aigrettes and ornaments
-of the young married women's coiffures, and on
-the glitter of highly glazed shirt-fronts and fresh glace
-gloves.
-
-Miss Welland, evidently about to join the dancers,
-hung on the threshold, her lilies-of-the-valley in her
-hand (she carried no other bouquet), her face a little
-pale, her eyes burning with a candid excitement.  A
-group of young men and girls were gathered about her,
-and there was much hand-clasping, laughing and pleasantry
-on which Mrs. Welland, standing slightly apart,
-shed the beam of a qualified approval.  It was evident
-that Miss Welland was in the act of announcing her
-engagement, while her mother affected the air of parental
-reluctance considered suitable to the occasion.
-
-Archer paused a moment.  It was at his express wish
-that the announcement had been made, and yet it was
-not thus that he would have wished to have his happiness
-known.  To proclaim it in the heat and noise of a
-crowded ball-room was to rob it of the fine bloom of
-privacy which should belong to things nearest the heart.
-His joy was so deep that this blurring of the surface left
-its essence untouched; but he would have liked to keep
-the surface pure too.  It was something of a satisfaction
-to find that May Welland shared this feeling.  Her eyes
-fled to his beseechingly, and their look said:  "Remember,
-we're doing this because it's right."
-
-No appeal could have found a more immediate response
-in Archer's breast; but he wished that the necessity
-of their action had been represented by some ideal
-reason, and not simply by poor Ellen Olenska.  The
-group about Miss Welland made way for him with
-significant smiles, and after taking his share of the
-felicitations he drew his betrothed into the middle of
-the ball-room floor and put his arm about her waist.
-
-"Now we shan't have to talk," he said, smiling into
-her candid eyes, as they floated away on the soft waves
-of the Blue Danube.
-
-She made no answer.  Her lips trembled into a smile,
-but the eyes remained distant and serious, as if bent on
-some ineffable vision.  "Dear," Archer whispered, pressing
-her to him: it was borne in on him that the first
-hours of being engaged, even if spent in a ball-room,
-had in them something grave and sacramental.  What a
-new life it was going to be, with this whiteness,
-radiance, goodness at one's side!
-
-The dance over, the two, as became an affianced
-couple, wandered into the conservatory; and sitting
-behind a tall screen of tree-ferns and camellias Newland
-pressed her gloved hand to his lips.
-
-"You see I did as you asked me to," she said.
-
-"Yes: I couldn't wait," he answered smiling.  After a
-moment he added:  "Only I wish it hadn't had to be at
-a ball."
-
-"Yes, I know."  She met his glance comprehendingly.
-"But after all--even here we're alone together, aren't
-we?"
-
-"Oh, dearest--always!" Archer cried.
-
-Evidently she was always going to understand; she
-was always going to say the right thing.  The discovery
-made the cup of his bliss overflow, and he went on
-gaily:  "The worst of it is that I want to kiss you and I
-can't."  As he spoke he took a swift glance about the
-conservatory, assured himself of their momentary privacy,
-and catching her to him laid a fugitive pressure
-on her lips.  To counteract the audacity of this proceeding
-he led her to a bamboo sofa in a less secluded part
-of the conservatory, and sitting down beside her broke
-a lily-of-the-valley from her bouquet.  She sat silent, and
-the world lay like a sunlit valley at their feet.
-
-"Did you tell my cousin Ellen?" she asked presently,
-as if she spoke through a dream.
-
-He roused himself, and remembered that he had not
-done so.  Some invincible repugnance to speak of such
-things to the strange foreign woman had checked the
-words on his lips.
-
-"No--I hadn't the chance after all," he said, fibbing
-hastily.
-
-"Ah."  She looked disappointed, but gently resolved
-on gaining her point.  "You must, then, for I didn't
-either; and I shouldn't like her to think--"
-
-"Of course not.  But aren't you, after all, the person
-to do it?"
-
-She pondered on this.  "If I'd done it at the right
-time, yes: but now that there's been a delay I think you
-must explain that I'd asked you to tell her at the
-Opera, before our speaking about it to everybody here.
-Otherwise she might think I had forgotten her.  You
-see, she's one of the family, and she's been away so
-long that she's rather--sensitive."
-
-Archer looked at her glowingly.  "Dear and great
-angel!  Of course I'll tell her."  He glanced a trifle
-apprehensively toward the crowded ball-room.  "But I haven't
-seen her yet.  Has she come?"
-
-"No; at the last minute she decided not to."
-
-"At the last minute?" he echoed, betraying his
-surprise that she should ever have considered the alternative
-possible.
-
-"Yes.  She's awfully fond of dancing," the young girl
-answered simply.  "But suddenly she made up her mind
-that her dress wasn't smart enough for a ball, though
-we thought it so lovely; and so my aunt had to take her
-home."
-
-"Oh, well--" said Archer with happy indifference.
-Nothing about his betrothed pleased him more than
-her resolute determination to carry to its utmost limit
-that ritual of ignoring the "unpleasant" in which they
-had both been brought up.
-
-"She knows as well as I do," he reflected, "the real
-reason of her cousin's staying away; but I shall never
-let her see by the least sign that I am conscious of there
-being a shadow of a shade on poor Ellen Olenska's
-reputation."
-
-
-
-IV.
-
-In the course of the next day the first of the usual
-betrothal visits were exchanged.  The New York
-ritual was precise and inflexible in such matters; and in
-conformity with it Newland Archer first went with his
-mother and sister to call on Mrs. Welland, after which
-he and Mrs. Welland and May drove out to old Mrs.
-Manson Mingott's to receive that venerable ancestress's
-blessing.
-
-A visit to Mrs. Manson Mingott was always an
-amusing episode to the young man.  The house in itself
-was already an historic document, though not, of course,
-as venerable as certain other old family houses in
-University Place and lower Fifth Avenue.  Those were of
-the purest 1830, with a grim harmony of cabbage-
-rose-garlanded carpets, rosewood consoles, round-arched
-fire-places with black marble mantels, and immense
-glazed book-cases of mahogany; whereas old Mrs.
-Mingott, who had built her house later, had bodily cast
-out the massive furniture of her prime, and mingled
-with the Mingott heirlooms the frivolous upholstery of
-the Second Empire.  It was her habit to sit in a window
-of her sitting-room on the ground floor, as if watching
-calmly for life and fashion to flow northward to her
-solitary doors.  She seemed in no hurry to have them
-come, for her patience was equalled by her confidence.
-She was sure that presently the hoardings, the quarries,
-the one-story saloons, the wooden green-houses in ragged
-gardens, and the rocks from which goats surveyed
-the scene, would vanish before the advance of residences
-as stately as her own--perhaps (for she was an
-impartial woman) even statelier; and that the cobble-
-stones over which the old clattering omnibuses bumped
-would be replaced by smooth asphalt, such as people
-reported having seen in Paris.  Meanwhile, as every one
-she cared to see came to HER (and she could fill her
-rooms as easily as the Beauforts, and without adding a
-single item to the menu of her suppers), she did not
-suffer from her geographic isolation.
-
-The immense accretion of flesh which had descended
-on her in middle life like a flood of lava on a doomed
-city had changed her from a plump active little woman
-with a neatly-turned foot and ankle into something as
-vast and august as a natural phenomenon.  She had
-accepted this submergence as philosophically as all her
-other trials, and now, in extreme old age, was rewarded
-by presenting to her mirror an almost unwrinkled
-expanse of firm pink and white flesh, in the
-centre of which the traces of a small face survived as if
-awaiting excavation.  A flight of smooth double chins led
-down to the dizzy depths of a still-snowy bosom veiled
-in snowy muslins that were held in place by a miniature
-portrait of the late Mr. Mingott; and around and below,
-wave after wave of black silk surged away over the edges
-of a capacious armchair, with two tiny white hands poised
-like gulls on the surface of the billows.
-
-The burden of Mrs. Manson Mingott's flesh had
-long since made it impossible for her to go up and
-down stairs, and with characteristic independence she
-had made her reception rooms upstairs and established
-herself (in flagrant violation of all the New York
-proprieties) on the ground floor of her house; so that, as
-you sat in her sitting-room window with her, you caught
-(through a door that was always open, and a looped-
-back yellow damask portiere) the unexpected vista of a
-bedroom with a huge low bed upholstered like a sofa,
-and a toilet-table with frivolous lace flounces and a
-gilt-framed mirror.
-
-Her visitors were startled and fascinated by the
-foreignness of this arrangement, which recalled scenes in
-French fiction, and architectural incentives to immorality
-such as the simple American had never dreamed of.
-That was how women with lovers lived in the wicked
-old societies, in apartments with all the rooms on one
-floor, and all the indecent propinquities that their
-novels described.  It amused Newland Archer (who had
-secretly situated the love-scenes of "Monsieur de
-Camors" in Mrs. Mingott's bedroom) to picture her
-blameless life led in the stage-setting of adultery; but he
-said to himself, with considerable admiration, that if a
-lover had been what she wanted, the intrepid woman
-would have had him too.
-
-To the general relief the Countess Olenska was not
-present in her grandmother's drawing-room during the
-visit of the betrothed couple.  Mrs. Mingott said she
-had gone out; which, on a day of such glaring sunlight,
-and at the "shopping hour," seemed in itself an indelicate
-thing for a compromised woman to do.  But at any
-rate it spared them the embarrassment of her presence,
-and the faint shadow that her unhappy past might
-seem to shed on their radiant future.  The visit went off
-successfully, as was to have been expected.  Old Mrs.
-Mingott was delighted with the engagement, which,
-being long foreseen by watchful relatives, had been
-carefully passed upon in family council; and the
-engagement ring, a large thick sapphire set in invisible
-claws, met with her unqualified admiration.
-
-"It's the new setting: of course it shows the stone
-beautifully, but it looks a little bare to old-fashioned
-eyes," Mrs. Welland had explained, with a conciliatory
-side-glance at her future son-in-law.
-
-"Old-fashioned eyes?  I hope you don't mean mine,
-my dear?  I like all the novelties," said the ancestress,
-lifting the stone to her small bright orbs, which no
-glasses had ever disfigured.  "Very handsome," she added,
-returning the jewel; "very liberal.  In my time a cameo
-set in pearls was thought sufficient.  But it's the hand
-that sets off the ring, isn't it, my dear Mr. Archer?"
-and she waved one of her tiny hands, with small pointed
-nails and rolls of aged fat encircling the wrist like ivory
-bracelets.  "Mine was modelled in Rome by the great
-Ferrigiani.  You should have May's done: no doubt he'll
-have it done, my child.  Her hand is large--it's these
-modern sports that spread the joints--but the skin is
-white.--And when's the wedding to be?" she broke off,
-fixing her eyes on Archer's face.
-
-"Oh--" Mrs. Welland murmured, while the young
-man, smiling at his betrothed, replied:  "As soon as ever
-it can, if only you'll back me up, Mrs. Mingott."
-
-"We must give them time to get to know each other
-a little better, mamma," Mrs. Welland interposed, with
-the proper affectation of reluctance; to which the
-ancestress rejoined:  "Know each other?  Fiddlesticks!
-Everybody in New York has always known everybody.
-Let the young man have his way, my dear; don't wait
-till the bubble's off the wine.  Marry them before Lent;
-I may catch pneumonia any winter now, and I want to
-give the wedding-breakfast."
-
-These successive statements were received with the
-proper expressions of amusement, incredulity and gratitude;
-and the visit was breaking up in a vein of mild
-pleasantry when the door opened to admit the Countess
-Olenska, who entered in bonnet and mantle followed
-by the unexpected figure of Julius Beaufort.
-
-There was a cousinly murmur of pleasure between
-the ladies, and Mrs. Mingott held out Ferrigiani's model
-to the banker.  "Ha!  Beaufort, this is a rare favour!"
-(She had an odd foreign way of addressing men by
-their surnames.)
-
-"Thanks.  I wish it might happen oftener," said the
-visitor in his easy arrogant way.  "I'm generally so tied
-down; but I met the Countess Ellen in Madison Square,
-and she was good enough to let me walk home with
-her."
-
-"Ah--I hope the house will be gayer, now that
-Ellen's here!" cried Mrs. Mingott with a glorious
-effrontery.  "Sit down--sit down, Beaufort: push up the yellow
-armchair; now I've got you I want a good gossip.  I
-hear your ball was magnificent; and I understand you
-invited Mrs. Lemuel Struthers?  Well--I've a curiosity
-to see the woman myself."
-
-She had forgotten her relatives, who were drifting
-out into the hall under Ellen Olenska's guidance.  Old
-Mrs. Mingott had always professed a great admiration
-for Julius Beaufort, and there was a kind of kinship in
-their cool domineering way and their short-cuts through
-the conventions.  Now she was eagerly curious to know
-what had decided the Beauforts to invite (for the first
-time) Mrs. Lemuel Struthers, the widow of Struthers's
-Shoe-polish, who had returned the previous year from
-a long initiatory sojourn in Europe to lay siege to the
-tight little citadel of New York.  "Of course if you and
-Regina invite her the thing is settled.  Well, we need
-new blood and new money--and I hear she's still very
-good-looking," the carnivorous old lady declared.
-
-In the hall, while Mrs. Welland and May drew on
-their furs, Archer saw that the Countess Olenska was
-looking at him with a faintly questioning smile.
-
-"Of course you know already--about May and me,"
-he said, answering her look with a shy laugh.  "She
-scolded me for not giving you the news last night at the
-Opera: I had her orders to tell you that we were
-engaged--but I couldn't, in that crowd."
-
-The smile passed from Countess Olenska's eyes to
-her lips: she looked younger, more like the bold brown
-Ellen Mingott of his boyhood.  "Of course I know; yes.
-And I'm so glad.  But one doesn't tell such things first in
-a crowd."  The ladies were on the threshold and she
-held out her hand.
-
-"Good-bye; come and see me some day," she said,
-still looking at Archer.
-
-In the carriage, on the way down Fifth Avenue, they
-talked pointedly of Mrs. Mingott, of her age, her spirit,
-and all her wonderful attributes.  No one alluded to
-Ellen Olenska; but Archer knew that Mrs. Welland
-was thinking:  "It's a mistake for Ellen to be seen, the
-very day after her arrival, parading up Fifth Avenue at
-the crowded hour with Julius Beaufort--" and the young
-man himself mentally added:  "And she ought to know
-that a man who's just engaged doesn't spend his time
-calling on married women.  But I daresay in the set
-she's lived in they do--they never do anything else."
-And, in spite of the cosmopolitan views on which he
-prided himself, he thanked heaven that he was a New
-Yorker, and about to ally himself with one of his own
-kind.
-
-
-
-V.
-
-The next evening old Mr. Sillerton Jackson came to
-dine with the Archers.
-
-Mrs. Archer was a shy woman and shrank from
-society; but she liked to be well-informed as to its
-doings.  Her old friend Mr. Sillerton Jackson applied to
-the investigation of his friends' affairs the patience of a
-collector and the science of a naturalist; and his sister,
-Miss Sophy Jackson, who lived with him, and was
-entertained by all the people who could not secure her
-much-sought-after brother, brought home bits of minor
-gossip that filled out usefully the gaps in his picture.
-
-Therefore, whenever anything happened that Mrs.
-Archer wanted to know about, she asked Mr. Jackson
-to dine; and as she honoured few people with her
-invitations, and as she and her daughter Janey were an
-excellent audience, Mr. Jackson usually came himself
-instead of sending his sister.  If he could have dictated
-all the conditions, he would have chosen the evenings
-when Newland was out; not because the young man
-was uncongenial to him (the two got on capitally at
-their club) but because the old anecdotist sometimes
-felt, on Newland's part, a tendency to weigh his
-evidence that the ladies of the family never showed.
-
-Mr. Jackson, if perfection had been attainable on
-earth, would also have asked that Mrs. Archer's food
-should be a little better.  But then New York, as far
-back as the mind of man could travel, had been divided
-into the two great fundamental groups of the Mingotts
-and Mansons and all their clan, who cared about eating
-and clothes and money, and the Archer-Newland-
-van-der-Luyden tribe, who were devoted to travel,
-horticulture and the best fiction, and looked down on
-the grosser forms of pleasure.
-
-You couldn't have everything, after all.  If you dined
-with the Lovell Mingotts you got canvas-back and
-terrapin and vintage wines; at Adeline Archer's you
-could talk about Alpine scenery and "The Marble Faun";
-and luckily the Archer Madeira had gone round the
-Cape.  Therefore when a friendly summons came from
-Mrs. Archer, Mr. Jackson, who was a true eclectic,
-would usually say to his sister:  "I've been a little gouty
-since my last dinner at the Lovell Mingotts'--it will do
-me good to diet at Adeline's."
-
-Mrs. Archer, who had long been a widow, lived with
-her son and daughter in West Twenty-eighth Street.  An
-upper floor was dedicated to Newland, and the two
-women squeezed themselves into narrower quarters
-below.  In an unclouded harmony of tastes and interests
-they cultivated ferns in Wardian cases, made macrame
-lace and wool embroidery on linen, collected American
-revolutionary glazed ware, subscribed to "Good Words,"
-and read Ouida's novels for the sake of the Italian
-atmosphere. (They preferred those about peasant life,
-because of the descriptions of scenery and the pleasanter
-sentiments, though in general they liked novels about
-people in society, whose motives and habits were more
-comprehensible, spoke severely of Dickens, who "had
-never drawn a gentleman," and considered Thackeray
-less at home in the great world than Bulwer--who,
-however, was beginning to be thought old-fashioned.)
-Mrs. and Miss Archer were both great lovers of
-scenery.  It was what they principally sought and admired
-on their occasional travels abroad; considering
-architecture and painting as subjects for men, and chiefly
-for learned persons who read Ruskin.  Mrs. Archer had
-been born a Newland, and mother and daughter, who
-were as like as sisters, were both, as people said, "true
-Newlands"; tall, pale, and slightly round-shouldered,
-with long noses, sweet smiles and a kind of drooping
-distinction like that in certain faded Reynolds portraits.
-Their physical resemblance would have been complete
-if an elderly embonpoint had not stretched Mrs. Archer's
-black brocade, while Miss Archer's brown and
-purple poplins hung, as the years went on, more and
-more slackly on her virgin frame.
-
-Mentally, the likeness between them, as Newland
-was aware, was less complete than their identical
-mannerisms often made it appear.  The long habit of living
-together in mutually dependent intimacy had given them
-the same vocabulary, and the same habit of beginning
-their phrases "Mother thinks" or "Janey thinks,"
-according as one or the other wished to advance an
-opinion of her own; but in reality, while Mrs. Archer's
-serene unimaginativeness rested easily in the accepted
-and familiar, Janey was subject to starts and aberrations
-of fancy welling up from springs of suppressed
-romance.
-
-Mother and daughter adored each other and revered
-their son and brother; and Archer loved them with a
-tenderness made compunctious and uncritical by the
-sense of their exaggerated admiration, and by his secret
-satisfaction in it.  After all, he thought it a good thing
-for a man to have his authority respected in his own
-house, even if his sense of humour sometimes made
-him question the force of his mandate.
-
-On this occasion the young man was very sure that
-Mr. Jackson would rather have had him dine out; but
-he had his own reasons for not doing so.
-
-Of course old Jackson wanted to talk about Ellen
-Olenska, and of course Mrs. Archer and Janey wanted
-to hear what he had to tell.  All three would be slightly
-embarrassed by Newland's presence, now that his
-prospective relation to the Mingott clan had been made
-known; and the young man waited with an amused
-curiosity to see how they would turn the difficulty.
-
-They began, obliquely, by talking about Mrs. Lemuel
-Struthers.
-
-"It's a pity the Beauforts asked her," Mrs. Archer
-said gently.  "But then Regina always does what he tells
-her; and BEAUFORT--"
-
-"Certain nuances escape Beaufort," said Mr. Jackson,
-cautiously inspecting the broiled shad, and wondering
-for the thousandth time why Mrs. Archer's cook
-always burnt the roe to a cinder. (Newland, who had
-long shared his wonder, could always detect it in the
-older man's expression of melancholy disapproval.)
-
-"Oh, necessarily; Beaufort is a vulgar man," said
-Mrs. Archer.  "My grandfather Newland always used
-to say to my mother:  `Whatever you do, don't let that
-fellow Beaufort be introduced to the girls.'  But at least
-he's had the advantage of associating with gentlemen;
-in England too, they say.  It's all very mysterious--"
-She glanced at Janey and paused.  She and Janey knew
-every fold of the Beaufort mystery, but in public Mrs.
-Archer continued to assume that the subject was not
-one for the unmarried.
-
-"But this Mrs. Struthers," Mrs. Archer continued;
-"what did you say SHE was, Sillerton?"
-
-"Out of a mine: or rather out of the saloon at the
-head of the pit.  Then with Living Wax-Works, touring
-New England.  After the police broke THAT up, they say
-she lived--"  Mr. Jackson in his turn glanced at Janey,
-whose eyes began to bulge from under her prominent
-lids.  There were still hiatuses for her in Mrs. Struthers's
-past.
-
-"Then," Mr. Jackson continued (and Archer saw he
-was wondering why no one had told the butler never to
-slice cucumbers with a steel knife), "then Lemuel Struthers
-came along.  They say his advertiser used the girl's
-head for the shoe-polish posters; her hair's intensely
-black, you know--the Egyptian style.  Anyhow, he--
-eventually--married her."  There were volumes of
-innuendo in the way the "eventually" was spaced, and
-each syllable given its due stress.
-
-"Oh, well--at the pass we've come to nowadays, it
-doesn't matter," said Mrs. Archer indifferently.  The
-ladies were not really interested in Mrs. Struthers
-just then; the subject of Ellen Olenska was too fresh
-and too absorbing to them.  Indeed, Mrs. Struthers's
-name had been introduced by Mrs. Archer only that
-she might presently be able to say:  "And Newland's
-new cousin--Countess Olenska?  Was SHE at the ball too?"
-
-There was a faint touch of sarcasm in the reference
-to her son, and Archer knew it and had expected it.
-Even Mrs. Archer, who was seldom unduly pleased
-with human events, had been altogether glad of her
-son's engagement. ("Especially after that silly business
-with Mrs. Rushworth," as she had remarked to Janey,
-alluding to what had once seemed to Newland a tragedy
-of which his soul would always bear the scar.)
-
-There was no better match in New York than May
-Welland, look at the question from whatever point you
-chose.  Of course such a marriage was only what
-Newland was entitled to; but young men are so foolish
-and incalculable--and some women so ensnaring and
-unscrupulous--that it was nothing short of a miracle to
-see one's only son safe past the Siren Isle and in the
-haven of a blameless domesticity.
-
-All this Mrs. Archer felt, and her son knew she felt;
-but he knew also that she had been perturbed by the
-premature announcement of his engagement, or rather
-by its cause; and it was for that reason--because on the
-whole he was a tender and indulgent master--that he
-had stayed at home that evening.  "It's not that I don't
-approve of the Mingotts' esprit de corps; but why
-Newland's engagement should be mixed up with that
-Olenska woman's comings and goings I don't see,"
-Mrs. Archer grumbled to Janey, the only witness of her
-slight lapses from perfect sweetness.
-
-She had behaved beautifully--and in beautiful
-behaviour she was unsurpassed--during the call on Mrs.
-Welland; but Newland knew (and his betrothed doubtless
-guessed) that all through the visit she and Janey
-were nervously on the watch for Madame Olenska's
-possible intrusion; and when they left the house
-together she had permitted herself to say to her son:  "I'm
-thankful that Augusta Welland received us alone."
-
-These indications of inward disturbance moved Archer
-the more that he too felt that the Mingotts had gone a
-little too far.  But, as it was against all the rules of their
-code that the mother and son should ever allude to
-what was uppermost in their thoughts, he simply replied:
-"Oh, well, there's always a phase of family parties
-to be gone through when one gets engaged, and the
-sooner it's over the better."  At which his mother merely
-pursed her lips under the lace veil that hung down from
-her grey velvet bonnet trimmed with frosted grapes.
-
-Her revenge, he felt--her lawful revenge--would be
-to "draw" Mr. Jackson that evening on the Countess
-Olenska; and, having publicly done his duty as a future
-member of the Mingott clan, the young man had no
-objection to hearing the lady discussed in private--except
-that the subject was already beginning to bore him.
-
-Mr. Jackson had helped himself to a slice of the tepid
-filet which the mournful butler had handed him with a
-look as sceptical as his own, and had rejected the
-mushroom sauce after a scarcely perceptible sniff.  He
-looked baffled and hungry, and Archer reflected that
-he would probably finish his meal on Ellen Olenska.
-
-Mr. Jackson leaned back in his chair, and glanced up
-at the candlelit Archers, Newlands and van der Luydens
-hanging in dark frames on the dark walls.
-
-"Ah, how your grandfather Archer loved a good
-dinner, my dear Newland!" he said, his eyes on the
-portrait of a plump full-chested young man in a stock
-and a blue coat, with a view of a white-columned
-country-house behind him.  "Well--well--well . . . I
-wonder what he would have said to all these foreign
-marriages!"
-
-Mrs. Archer ignored the allusion to the ancestral
-cuisine and Mr. Jackson continued with deliberation:
-"No, she was NOT at the ball."
-
-"Ah--" Mrs. Archer murmured, in a tone that
-implied:  "She had that decency."
-
-"Perhaps the Beauforts don't know her," Janey
-suggested, with her artless malice.
-
-Mr. Jackson gave a faint sip, as if he had been
-tasting invisible Madeira.  "Mrs. Beaufort may not--but
-Beaufort certainly does, for she was seen walking up
-Fifth Avenue this afternoon with him by the whole of
-New York."
-
-"Mercy--" moaned Mrs. Archer, evidently perceiving
-the uselessness of trying to ascribe the actions of
-foreigners to a sense of delicacy.
-
-"I wonder if she wears a round hat or a bonnet in
-the afternoon," Janey speculated.  "At the Opera I know
-she had on dark blue velvet, perfectly plain and flat--
-like a night-gown."
-
-"Janey!" said her mother; and Miss Archer blushed
-and tried to look audacious.
-
-"It was, at any rate, in better taste not to go to the
-ball," Mrs. Archer continued.
-
-A spirit of perversity moved her son to rejoin:  "I
-don't think it was a question of taste with her.  May
-said she meant to go, and then decided that the dress in
-question wasn't smart enough."
-
-Mrs. Archer smiled at this confirmation of her
-inference.  "Poor Ellen," she simply remarked; adding
-compassionately:  "We must always bear in mind what an
-eccentric bringing-up Medora Manson gave her.  What
-can you expect of a girl who was allowed to wear
-black satin at her coming-out ball?"
-
-"Ah--don't I remember her in it!" said Mr. Jackson;
-adding:  "Poor girl!" in the tone of one who, while
-enjoying the memory, had fully understood at the time
-what the sight portended.
-
-"It's odd," Janey remarked, "that she should have
-kept such an ugly name as Ellen.  I should have changed
-it to Elaine."  She glanced about the table to see the
-effect of this.
-
-Her brother laughed.  "Why Elaine?"
-
-"I don't know; it sounds more--more Polish," said
-Janey, blushing.
-
-"It sounds more conspicuous; and that can hardly be
-what she wishes," said Mrs. Archer distantly.
-
-"Why not?" broke in her son, growing suddenly
-argumentative.  "Why shouldn't she be conspicuous if
-she chooses?  Why should she slink about as if it were
-she who had disgraced herself?  She's `poor Ellen'
-certainly, because she had the bad luck to make a wretched
-marriage; but I don't see that that's a reason for hiding
-her head as if she were the culprit."
-
-"That, I suppose," said Mr. Jackson, speculatively,
-"is the line the Mingotts mean to take."
-
-The young man reddened.  "I didn't have to wait for
-their cue, if that's what you mean, sir.  Madame Olenska
-has had an unhappy life: that doesn't make her an
-outcast."
-
-"There are rumours," began Mr. Jackson, glancing
-at Janey.
-
-"Oh, I know: the secretary," the young man took
-him up.  "Nonsense, mother; Janey's grown-up.  They
-say, don't they," he went on, "that the secretary helped
-her to get away from her brute of a husband, who kept
-her practically a prisoner?  Well, what if he did?  I hope
-there isn't a man among us who wouldn't have done
-the same in such a case."
-
-Mr. Jackson glanced over his shoulder to say to the
-sad butler:  "Perhaps . . . that sauce . . . just a little,
-after all--"; then, having helped himself, he remarked:
-"I'm told she's looking for a house.  She means to live
-here."
-
-"I hear she means to get a divorce," said Janey
-boldly.
-
-"I hope she will!" Archer exclaimed.
-
-The word had fallen like a bombshell in the pure and
-tranquil atmosphere of the Archer dining-room.  Mrs.
-Archer raised her delicate eye-brows in the particular
-curve that signified:  "The butler--" and the young
-man, himself mindful of the bad taste of discussing
-such intimate matters in public, hastily branched off
-into an account of his visit to old Mrs. Mingott.
-
-After dinner, according to immemorial custom, Mrs.
-Archer and Janey trailed their long silk draperies up to
-the drawing-room, where, while the gentlemen smoked
-below stairs, they sat beside a Carcel lamp with an
-engraved globe, facing each other across a rosewood
-work-table with a green silk bag under it, and stitched
-at the two ends of a tapestry band of field-flowers
-destined to adorn an "occasional" chair in the drawing-
-room of young Mrs. Newland Archer.
-
-While this rite was in progress in the drawing-room,
-Archer settled Mr. Jackson in an armchair near the fire
-in the Gothic library and handed him a cigar.  Mr.
-Jackson sank into the armchair with satisfaction, lit his
-cigar with perfect confidence (it was Newland who
-bought them), and stretching his thin old ankles to the
-coals, said:  "You say the secretary merely helped her to
-get away, my dear fellow?  Well, he was still helping her
-a year later, then; for somebody met 'em living at
-Lausanne together."
-
-Newland reddened.  "Living together?  Well, why not?
-Who had the right to make her life over if she hadn't?
-I'm sick of the hypocrisy that would bury alive a woman
-of her age if her husband prefers to live with harlots."
-
-He stopped and turned away angrily to light his
-cigar.  "Women ought to be free--as free as we are," he
-declared, making a discovery of which he was too
-irritated to measure the terrific consequences.
-
-Mr. Sillerton Jackson stretched his ankles nearer the
-coals and emitted a sardonic whistle.
-
-"Well," he said after a pause, "apparently Count
-Olenski takes your view; for I never heard of his having
-lifted a finger to get his wife back."
-
-
-
-VI.
-
-That evening, after Mr. Jackson had taken himself
-away, and the ladies had retired to their chintz-
-curtained bedroom, Newland Archer mounted thoughtfully
-to his own study.  A vigilant hand had, as usual,
-kept the fire alive and the lamp trimmed; and the
-room, with its rows and rows of books, its bronze and
-steel statuettes of "The Fencers" on the mantelpiece
-and its many photographs of famous pictures, looked
-singularly home-like and welcoming.
-
-As he dropped into his armchair near the fire his eyes
-rested on a large photograph of May Welland, which
-the young girl had given him in the first days of their
-romance, and which had now displaced all the other
-portraits on the table.  With a new sense of awe he
-looked at the frank forehead, serious eyes and gay
-innocent mouth of the young creature whose soul's
-custodian he was to be.  That terrifying product of the
-social system he belonged to and believed in, the young
-girl who knew nothing and expected everything, looked
-back at him like a stranger through May Welland's
-familiar features; and once more it was borne in on
-him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had
-been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.
-
-The case of the Countess Olenska had stirred up old
-settled convictions and set them drifting dangerously
-through his mind.  His own exclamation:  "Women should
-be free--as free as we are," struck to the root of a
-problem that it was agreed in his world to regard as
-non-existent.  "Nice" women, however wronged, would
-never claim the kind of freedom he meant, and generous-
-minded men like himself were therefore--in the heat of
-argument--the more chivalrously ready to concede it
-to them.  Such verbal generosities were in fact only a
-humbugging disguise of the inexorable conventions that
-tied things together and bound people down to the old
-pattern.  But here he was pledged to defend, on the part
-of his betrothed's cousin, conduct that, on his own
-wife's part, would justify him in calling down on her
-all the thunders of Church and State.  Of course the
-dilemma was purely hypothetical; since he wasn't a
-blackguard Polish nobleman, it was absurd to speculate
-what his wife's rights would be if he WERE.  But Newland
-Archer was too imaginative not to feel that, in his case
-and May's, the tie might gall for reasons far less gross
-and palpable.  What could he and she really know of
-each other, since it was his duty, as a "decent" fellow,
-to conceal his past from her, and hers, as a marriageable
-girl, to have no past to conceal?  What if, for some
-one of the subtler reasons that would tell with both of
-them, they should tire of each other, misunderstand or
-irritate each other?  He reviewed his friends' marriages--
-the supposedly happy ones--and saw none that
-answered, even remotely, to the passionate and tender
-comradeship which he pictured as his permanent relation
-with May Welland.  He perceived that such a picture
-presupposed, on her part, the experience, the
-versatility, the freedom of judgment, which she had
-been carefully trained not to possess; and with a shiver
-of foreboding he saw his marriage becoming what most
-of the other marriages about him were: a dull association
-of material and social interests held together by
-ignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other.
-Lawrence Lefferts occurred to him as the husband who
-had most completely realised this enviable ideal.  As
-became the high-priest of form, he had formed a wife
-so completely to his own convenience that, in the most
-conspicuous moments of his frequent love-affairs with
-other men's wives, she went about in smiling
-unconsciousness, saying that "Lawrence was so frightfully
-strict"; and had been known to blush indignantly, and
-avert her gaze, when some one alluded in her presence
-to the fact that Julius Beaufort (as became a "foreigner"
-of doubtful origin) had what was known in
-New York as "another establishment."
-
-Archer tried to console himself with the thought that
-he was not quite such an ass as Larry Lefferts, nor May
-such a simpleton as poor Gertrude; but the difference
-was after all one of intelligence and not of standards.
-In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world,
-where the real thing was never said or done or even
-thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary
-signs; as when Mrs. Welland, who knew exactly why
-Archer had pressed her to announce her daughter's
-engagement at the Beaufort ball (and had indeed
-expected him to do no less), yet felt obliged to simulate
-reluctance, and the air of having had her hand forced,
-quite as, in the books on Primitive Man that people of
-advanced culture were beginning to read, the savage
-bride is dragged with shrieks from her parents' tent.
-
-The result, of course, was that the young girl who
-was the centre of this elaborate system of mystification
-remained the more inscrutable for her very frankness
-and assurance.  She was frank, poor darling, because
-she had nothing to conceal, assured because she knew
-of nothing to be on her guard against; and with no
-better preparation than this, she was to be plunged
-overnight into what people evasively called "the facts
-of life."
-
-The young man was sincerely but placidly in love.
-He delighted in the radiant good looks of his betrothed,
-in her health, her horsemanship, her grace and quickness
-at games, and the shy interest in books and ideas
-that she was beginning to develop under his guidance.
-(She had advanced far enough to join him in ridiculing
-the Idyls of the King, but not to feel the beauty of
-Ulysses and the Lotus Eaters.) She was straightforward,
-loyal and brave; she had a sense of humour (chiefly
-proved by her laughing at HIS jokes); and he suspected,
-in the depths of her innocently-gazing soul, a glow of
-feeling that it would be a joy to waken.  But when he
-had gone the brief round of her he returned discouraged
-by the thought that all this frankness and innocence
-were only an artificial product.  Untrained human
-nature was not frank and innocent; it was full of the
-twists and defences of an instinctive guile.  And he felt
-himself oppressed by this creation of factitious purity,
-so cunningly manufactured by a conspiracy of mothers
-and aunts and grandmothers and long-dead ancestresses,
-because it was supposed to be what he wanted, what
-he had a right to, in order that he might exercise his
-lordly pleasure in smashing it like an image made of
-snow.
-
-There was a certain triteness in these reflections: they
-were those habitual to young men on the approach of
-their wedding day.  But they were generally accompanied
-by a sense of compunction and self-abasement of
-which Newland Archer felt no trace.  He could not
-deplore (as Thackeray's heroes so often exasperated
-him by doing) that he had not a blank page to offer his
-bride in exchange for the unblemished one she was to
-give to him.  He could not get away from the fact that if
-he had been brought up as she had they would have
-been no more fit to find their way about than the Babes
-in the Wood; nor could he, for all his anxious cogitations,
-see any honest reason (any, that is, unconnected
-with his own momentary pleasure, and the passion of
-masculine vanity) why his bride should not have been
-allowed the same freedom of experience as himself.
-
-Such questions, at such an hour, were bound to drift
-through his mind; but he was conscious that their
-uncomfortable persistence and precision were due to
-the inopportune arrival of the Countess Olenska.  Here
-he was, at the very moment of his betrothal--a moment
-for pure thoughts and cloudless hopes--pitchforked
-into a coil of scandal which raised all the special problems
-he would have preferred to let lie.  "Hang Ellen
-Olenska!" he grumbled, as he covered his fire and
-began to undress.  He could not really see why her fate
-should have the least bearing on his; yet he dimly felt
-that he had only just begun to measure the risks of the
-championship which his engagement had forced upon
-him.
-
-
-A few days later the bolt fell.
-
-The Lovell Mingotts had sent out cards for what was
-known as "a formal dinner" (that is, three extra footmen,
-two dishes for each course, and a Roman punch
-in the middle), and had headed their invitations with
-the words "To meet the Countess Olenska," in accordance
-with the hospitable American fashion, which
-treats strangers as if they were royalties, or at least as
-their ambassadors.
-
-The guests had been selected with a boldness and
-discrimination in which the initiated recognised the
-firm hand of Catherine the Great.  Associated with such
-immemorial standbys as the Selfridge Merrys, who were
-asked everywhere because they always had been, the
-Beauforts, on whom there was a claim of relationship,
-and Mr. Sillerton Jackson and his sister Sophy (who
-went wherever her brother told her to), were some of
-the most fashionable and yet most irreproachable of
-the dominant "young married" set; the Lawrence
-Leffertses, Mrs. Lefferts Rushworth (the lovely widow),
-the Harry Thorleys, the Reggie Chiverses and young
-Morris Dagonet and his wife (who was a van der
-Luyden).  The company indeed was perfectly assorted,
-since all the members belonged to the little inner group
-of people who, during the long New York season,
-disported themselves together daily and nightly with
-apparently undiminished zest.
-
-Forty-eight hours later the unbelievable had
-happened; every one had refused the Mingotts' invitation
-except the Beauforts and old Mr. Jackson and his sister.
-The intended slight was emphasised by the fact that
-even the Reggie Chiverses, who were of the Mingott
-clan, were among those inflicting it; and by the
-uniform wording of the notes, in all of which the writers
-"regretted that they were unable to accept," without
-the mitigating plea of a "previous engagement" that
-ordinary courtesy prescribed.
-
-New York society was, in those days, far too small,
-and too scant in its resources, for every one in it
-(including livery-stable-keepers, butlers and cooks) not
-to know exactly on which evenings people were free;
-and it was thus possible for the recipients of Mrs.
-Lovell Mingott's invitations to make cruelly clear their
-determination not to meet the Countess Olenska.
-
-The blow was unexpected; but the Mingotts, as their
-way was, met it gallantly.  Mrs. Lovell Mingott
-confided the case to Mrs. Welland, who confided it to
-Newland Archer; who, aflame at the outrage, appealed
-passionately and authoritatively to his mother; who,
-after a painful period of inward resistance and outward
-temporising, succumbed to his instances (as she always
-did), and immediately embracing his cause with an
-energy redoubled by her previous hesitations, put on
-her grey velvet bonnet and said:  "I'll go and see Louisa
-van der Luyden."
-
-The New York of Newland Archer's day was a small
-and slippery pyramid, in which, as yet, hardly a fissure
-had been made or a foothold gained.  At its base was a
-firm foundation of what Mrs. Archer called "plain
-people"; an honourable but obscure majority of
-respectable families who (as in the case of the Spicers or
-the Leffertses or the Jacksons) had been raised above
-their level by marriage with one of the ruling clans.
-People, Mrs. Archer always said, were not as particular
-as they used to be; and with old Catherine Spicer ruling
-one end of Fifth Avenue, and Julius Beaufort the other,
-you couldn't expect the old traditions to last much
-longer.
-
-Firmly narrowing upward from this wealthy but
-inconspicuous substratum was the compact and dominant
-group which the Mingotts, Newlands, Chiverses
-and Mansons so actively represented.  Most people imagined
-them to be the very apex of the pyramid; but they
-themselves (at least those of Mrs. Archer's generation)
-were aware that, in the eyes of the professional genealogist,
-only a still smaller number of families could lay
-claim to that eminence.
-
-"Don't tell me," Mrs. Archer would say to her
-children, "all this modern newspaper rubbish about a New
-York aristocracy.  If there is one, neither the Mingotts
-nor the Mansons belong to it; no, nor the Newlands or
-the Chiverses either.  Our grandfathers and great-
-grandfathers were just respectable English or Dutch
-merchants, who came to the colonies to make their
-fortune, and stayed here because they did so well.  One
-of your great-grandfathers signed the Declaration, and
-another was a general on Washington's staff, and
-received General Burgoyne's sword after the battle of
-Saratoga.  These are things to be proud of, but they
-have nothing to do with rank or class.  New York has
-always been a commercial community, and there are
-not more than three families in it who can claim an
-aristocratic origin in the real sense of the word."
-
-Mrs. Archer and her son and daughter, like every
-one else in New York, knew who these privileged beings
-were: the Dagonets of Washington Square, who came
-of an old English county family allied with the Pitts
-and Foxes; the Lannings, who had intermarried with
-the descendants of Count de Grasse, and the van der
-Luydens, direct descendants of the first Dutch governor
-of Manhattan, and related by pre-revolutionary
-marriages to several members of the French and British
-aristocracy.
-
-The Lannings survived only in the person of two
-very old but lively Miss Lannings, who lived cheerfully
-and reminiscently among family portraits and Chippendale;
-the Dagonets were a considerable clan, allied to
-the best names in Baltimore and Philadelphia; but the
-van der Luydens, who stood above all of them, had
-faded into a kind of super-terrestrial twilight, from
-which only two figures impressively emerged; those of
-Mr. and Mrs. Henry van der Luyden.
-
-Mrs. Henry van der Luyden had been Louisa Dagonet,
-and her mother had been the granddaughter of Colonel
-du Lac, of an old Channel Island family, who had
-fought under Cornwallis and had settled in Maryland,
-after the war, with his bride, Lady Angelica Trevenna,
-fifth daughter of the Earl of St. Austrey.  The tie
-between the Dagonets, the du Lacs of Maryland, and
-their aristocratic Cornish kinsfolk, the Trevennas, had
-always remained close and cordial.  Mr. and Mrs. van
-der Luyden had more than once paid long visits to the
-present head of the house of Trevenna, the Duke of St.
-Austrey, at his country-seat in Cornwall and at St.
-Austrey in Gloucestershire; and his Grace had frequently
-announced his intention of some day returning their
-visit (without the Duchess, who feared the Atlantic).
-
-Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden divided their time
-between Trevenna, their place in Maryland, and Skuytercliff,
-the great estate on the Hudson which had been one
-of the colonial grants of the Dutch government to the
-famous first Governor, and of which Mr. van der Luyden
-was still "Patroon."  Their large solemn house in Madison
-Avenue was seldom opened, and when they came to town
-they received in it only their most intimate friends.
-
-"I wish you would go with me, Newland," his mother
-said, suddenly pausing at the door of the Brown
-coupe.  "Louisa is fond of you; and of course it's on
-account of dear May that I'm taking this step--and
-also because, if we don't all stand together, there'll be
-no such thing as Society left."
-
-
-
-VII.
-
-Mrs. Henry van der Luyden listened in silence to
-her cousin Mrs. Archer's narrative.
-
-It was all very well to tell yourself in advance that
-Mrs. van der Luyden was always silent, and that, though
-non-committal by nature and training, she was very
-kind to the people she really liked.  Even personal
-experience of these facts was not always a protection from
-the chill that descended on one in the high-ceilinged
-white-walled Madison Avenue drawing-room, with the
-pale brocaded armchairs so obviously uncovered for
-the occasion, and the gauze still veiling the ormolu
-mantel ornaments and the beautiful old carved frame
-of Gainsborough's "Lady Angelica du Lac."
-
-Mrs. van der Luyden's portrait by Huntington (in
-black velvet and Venetian point) faced that of her
-lovely ancestress.  It was generally considered "as fine
-as a Cabanel," and, though twenty years had elapsed
-since its execution, was still "a perfect likeness."
-Indeed the Mrs. van der Luyden who sat beneath it
-listening to Mrs. Archer might have been the twin-sister
-of the fair and still youngish woman drooping against a
-gilt armchair before a green rep curtain.  Mrs. van der
-Luyden still wore black velvet and Venetian point when
-she went into society--or rather (since she never dined
-out) when she threw open her own doors to receive it.
-Her fair hair, which had faded without turning grey,
-was still parted in flat overlapping points on her forehead,
-and the straight nose that divided her pale blue
-eyes was only a little more pinched about the nostrils
-than when the portrait had been painted.  She always,
-indeed, struck Newland Archer as having been rather
-gruesomely preserved in the airless atmosphere of a
-perfectly irreproachable existence, as bodies caught in
-glaciers keep for years a rosy life-in-death.
-
-Like all his family, he esteemed and admired Mrs.
-van der Luyden; but he found her gentle bending sweetness
-less approachable than the grimness of some of his
-mother's old aunts, fierce spinsters who said "No" on
-principle before they knew what they were going to be
-asked.
-
-Mrs. van der Luyden's attitude said neither yes nor
-no, but always appeared to incline to clemency till her
-thin lips, wavering into the shadow of a smile, made
-the almost invariable reply:  "I shall first have to talk
-this over with my husband."
-
-She and Mr. van der Luyden were so exactly alike
-that Archer often wondered how, after forty years of
-the closest conjugality, two such merged identities ever
-separated themselves enough for anything as controversial
-as a talking-over.  But as neither had ever reached a
-decision without prefacing it by this mysterious
-conclave, Mrs. Archer and her son, having set forth their
-case, waited resignedly for the familiar phrase.
-
-Mrs. van der Luyden, however, who had seldom
-surprised any one, now surprised them by reaching her
-long hand toward the bell-rope.
-
-"I think," she said, "I should like Henry to hear
-what you have told me."
-
-A footman appeared, to whom she gravely added:
-"If Mr. van der Luyden has finished reading the
-newspaper, please ask him to be kind enough to come."
-
-She said "reading the newspaper" in the tone in
-which a Minister's wife might have said:  "Presiding at
-a Cabinet meeting"--not from any arrogance of mind,
-but because the habit of a life-time, and the attitude of
-her friends and relations, had led her to consider Mr.
-van der Luyden's least gesture as having an almost
-sacerdotal importance.
-
-Her promptness of action showed that she considered
-the case as pressing as Mrs. Archer; but, lest she
-should be thought to have committed herself in advance,
-she added, with the sweetest look:  "Henry always
-enjoys seeing you, dear Adeline; and he will wish
-to congratulate Newland."
-
-The double doors had solemnly reopened and between
-them appeared Mr. Henry van der Luyden, tall,
-spare and frock-coated, with faded fair hair, a straight
-nose like his wife's and the same look of frozen gentleness
-in eyes that were merely pale grey instead of pale
-blue.
-
-Mr. van der Luyden greeted Mrs. Archer with cousinly
-affability, proffered to Newland low-voiced
-congratulations couched in the same language as his wife's,
-and seated himself in one of the brocade armchairs
-with the simplicity of a reigning sovereign.
-
-"I had just finished reading the Times," he said,
-laying his long finger-tips together.  "In town my mornings
-are so much occupied that I find it more convenient
-to read the newspapers after luncheon."
-
-"Ah, there's a great deal to be said for that plan--
-indeed I think my uncle Egmont used to say he found it
-less agitating not to read the morning papers till after
-dinner," said Mrs. Archer responsively.
-
-"Yes: my good father abhorred hurry.  But now we
-live in a constant rush," said Mr. van der Luyden in
-measured tones, looking with pleasant deliberation about
-the large shrouded room which to Archer was so complete
-an image of its owners.
-
-"But I hope you HAD finished your reading, Henry?"
-his wife interposed.
-
-"Quite--quite," he reassured her.
-
-"Then I should like Adeline to tell you--"
-
-"Oh, it's really Newland's story," said his mother
-smiling; and proceeded to rehearse once more the monstrous
-tale of the affront inflicted on Mrs. Lovell Mingott.
-
-"Of course," she ended, "Augusta Welland and Mary
-Mingott both felt that, especially in view of Newland's
-engagement, you and Henry OUGHT TO KNOW."
-
-"Ah--" said Mr. van der Luyden, drawing a deep
-breath.
-
-There was a silence during which the tick of the
-monumental ormolu clock on the white marble mantelpiece
-grew as loud as the boom of a minute-gun.  Archer
-contemplated with awe the two slender faded figures,
-seated side by side in a kind of viceregal rigidity,
-mouthpieces of some remote ancestral authority which fate
-compelled them to wield, when they would so much
-rather have lived in simplicity and seclusion, digging
-invisible weeds out of the perfect lawns of Skuytercliff,
-and playing Patience together in the evenings.
-
-Mr. van der Luyden was the first to speak.
-
-"You really think this is due to some--some
-intentional interference of Lawrence Lefferts's?" he enquired,
-turning to Archer.
-
-"I'm certain of it, sir.  Larry has been going it rather
-harder than usual lately--if cousin Louisa won't mind
-my mentioning it--having rather a stiff affair with the
-postmaster's wife in their village, or some one of that
-sort; and whenever poor Gertrude Lefferts begins to
-suspect anything, and he's afraid of trouble, he gets up
-a fuss of this kind, to show how awfully moral he is,
-and talks at the top of his voice about the impertinence
-of inviting his wife to meet people he doesn't wish her
-to know.  He's simply using Madame Olenska as a
-lightning-rod; I've seen him try the same thing often
-before."
-
-"The LEFFERTSES!--" said Mrs. van der Luyden.
-
-"The LEFFERTSES!--" echoed Mrs. Archer.  "What would
-uncle Egmont have said of Lawrence Lefferts's
-pronouncing on anybody's social position?  It shows what
-Society has come to."
-
-"We'll hope it has not quite come to that," said Mr.
-van der Luyden firmly.
-
-"Ah, if only you and Louisa went out more!" sighed
-Mrs. Archer.
-
-But instantly she became aware of her mistake.  The
-van der Luydens were morbidly sensitive to any criticism
-of their secluded existence.  They were the arbiters
-of fashion, the Court of last Appeal, and they knew it,
-and bowed to their fate.  But being shy and retiring
-persons, with no natural inclination for their part, they
-lived as much as possible in the sylvan solitude of
-Skuytercliff, and when they came to town, declined all
-invitations on the plea of Mrs. van der Luyden's health.
-
-Newland Archer came to his mother's rescue.
-"Everybody in New York knows what you and cousin
-Louisa represent.  That's why Mrs. Mingott felt she
-ought not to allow this slight on Countess Olenska to
-pass without consulting you."
-
-Mrs. van der Luyden glanced at her husband, who
-glanced back at her.
-
-"It is the principle that I dislike," said Mr. van der
-Luyden.  "As long as a member of a well-known family
-is backed up by that family it should be considered--
-final."
-
-"It seems so to me," said his wife, as if she were
-producing a new thought.
-
-"I had no idea," Mr. van der Luyden continued,
-"that things had come to such a pass."  He paused, and
-looked at his wife again.  "It occurs to me, my dear,
-that the Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation--
-through Medora Manson's first husband.  At any rate,
-she will be when Newland marries."  He turned toward
-the young man.  "Have you read this morning's Times,
-Newland?"
-
-"Why, yes, sir," said Archer, who usually tossed off
-half a dozen papers with his morning coffee.
-
-Husband and wife looked at each other again.  Their
-pale eyes clung together in prolonged and serious
-consultation; then a faint smile fluttered over Mrs. van der
-Luyden's face.  She had evidently guessed and approved.
-
-Mr. van der Luyden turned to Mrs. Archer.  "If Louisa's
-health allowed her to dine out--I wish you would
-say to Mrs. Lovell Mingott--she and I would have
-been happy to--er--fill the places of the Lawrence
-Leffertses at her dinner."  He paused to let the irony of
-this sink in.  "As you know, this is impossible."  Mrs.
-Archer sounded a sympathetic assent.  "But Newland
-tells me he has read this morning's Times; therefore he
-has probably seen that Louisa's relative, the Duke of
-St. Austrey, arrives next week on the Russia.  He is
-coming to enter his new sloop, the Guinevere, in next
-summer's International Cup Race; and also to have a
-little canvasback shooting at Trevenna."  Mr. van der
-Luyden paused again, and continued with increasing
-benevolence:  "Before taking him down to Maryland
-we are inviting a few friends to meet him here--only a
-little dinner--with a reception afterward.  I am sure
-Louisa will be as glad as I am if Countess Olenska will
-let us include her among our guests."  He got up, bent
-his long body with a stiff friendliness toward his cousin,
-and added:  "I think I have Louisa's authority for saying
-that she will herself leave the invitation to dine
-when she drives out presently: with our cards--of course
-with our cards."
-
-Mrs. Archer, who knew this to be a hint that the
-seventeen-hand chestnuts which were never kept waiting
-were at the door, rose with a hurried murmur of
-thanks.  Mrs. van der Luyden beamed on her with the
-smile of Esther interceding with Ahasuerus; but her
-husband raised a protesting hand.
-
-"There is nothing to thank me for, dear Adeline;
-nothing whatever.  This kind of thing must not happen
-in New York; it shall not, as long as I can help it," he
-pronounced with sovereign gentleness as he steered his
-cousins to the door.
-
-Two hours later, every one knew that the great
-C-spring barouche in which Mrs. van der Luyden
-took the air at all seasons had been seen at old
-Mrs. Mingott's door, where a large square envelope
-was handed in; and that evening at the Opera Mr.
-Sillerton Jackson was able to state that the envelope
-contained a card inviting the Countess Olenska
-to the dinner which the van der Luydens were giving
-the following week for their cousin, the Duke
-of St. Austrey.
-
-Some of the younger men in the club box exchanged
-a smile at this announcement, and glanced sideways at
-Lawrence Lefferts, who sat carelessly in the front of the
-box, pulling his long fair moustache, and who remarked
-with authority, as the soprano paused:  "No one but
-Patti ought to attempt the Sonnambula."
-
-
-
-VIII.
-
-It was generally agreed in New York that the Countess
-Olenska had "lost her looks."
-
-She had appeared there first, in Newland Archer's
-boyhood, as a brilliantly pretty little girl of nine or ten,
-of whom people said that she "ought to be painted."
-Her parents had been continental wanderers, and after
-a roaming babyhood she had lost them both, and been
-taken in charge by her aunt, Medora Manson, also a
-wanderer, who was herself returning to New York to
-"settle down."
-
-Poor Medora, repeatedly widowed, was always coming
-home to settle down (each time in a less expensive
-house), and bringing with her a new husband or an
-adopted child; but after a few months she invariably
-parted from her husband or quarrelled with her ward,
-and, having got rid of her house at a loss, set out again
-on her wanderings.  As her mother had been a Rushworth,
-and her last unhappy marriage had linked her
-to one of the crazy Chiverses, New York looked indulgently
-on her eccentricities; but when she returned with
-her little orphaned niece, whose parents had been popular
-in spite of their regrettable taste for travel, people thought
-it a pity that the pretty child should be in such hands.
-
-Every one was disposed to be kind to little Ellen
-Mingott, though her dusky red cheeks and tight curls
-gave her an air of gaiety that seemed unsuitable in a
-child who should still have been in black for her
-parents.  It was one of the misguided Medora's many
-peculiarities to flout the unalterable rules that regulated
-American mourning, and when she stepped from the
-steamer her family were scandalised to see that the
-crape veil she wore for her own brother was seven
-inches shorter than those of her sisters-in-law, while
-little Ellen was in crimson merino and amber beads,
-like a gipsy foundling.
-
-But New York had so long resigned itself to Medora
-that only a few old ladies shook their heads over Ellen's
-gaudy clothes, while her other relations fell under
-the charm of her high colour and high spirits.  She was
-a fearless and familiar little thing, who asked disconcerting
-questions, made precocious comments, and possessed
-outlandish arts, such as dancing a Spanish shawl
-dance and singing Neapolitan love-songs to a guitar.
-Under the direction of her aunt (whose real name was
-Mrs. Thorley Chivers, but who, having received a Papal
-title, had resumed her first husband's patronymic,
-and called herself the Marchioness Manson, because in
-Italy she could turn it into Manzoni) the little girl
-received an expensive but incoherent education, which
-included "drawing from the model," a thing never
-dreamed of before, and playing the piano in quintets
-with professional musicians.
-
-Of course no good could come of this; and when, a
-few years later, poor Chivers finally died in a mad-
-house, his widow (draped in strange weeds) again pulled
-up stakes and departed with Ellen, who had grown into
-a tall bony girl with conspicuous eyes.  For some time
-no more was heard of them; then news came of Ellen's
-marriage to an immensely rich Polish nobleman of
-legendary fame, whom she had met at a ball at the
-Tuileries, and who was said to have princely establishments
-in Paris, Nice and Florence, a yacht at Cowes,
-and many square miles of shooting in Transylvania.
-She disappeared in a kind of sulphurous apotheosis,
-and when a few years later Medora again came back to
-New York, subdued, impoverished, mourning a third
-husband, and in quest of a still smaller house, people
-wondered that her rich niece had not been able to do
-something for her.  Then came the news that Ellen's
-own marriage had ended in disaster, and that she was
-herself returning home to seek rest and oblivion among
-her kinsfolk.
-
-These things passed through Newland Archer's mind
-a week later as he watched the Countess Olenska enter
-the van der Luyden drawing-room on the evening of
-the momentous dinner.  The occasion was a solemn
-one, and he wondered a little nervously how she would
-carry it off.  She came rather late, one hand still ungloved,
-and fastening a bracelet about her wrist; yet she entered
-without any appearance of haste or embarrassment
-the drawing-room in which New York's most
-chosen company was somewhat awfully assembled.
-
-In the middle of the room she paused, looking about
-her with a grave mouth and smiling eyes; and in that
-instant Newland Archer rejected the general verdict on
-her looks.  It was true that her early radiance was gone.
-The red cheeks had paled; she was thin, worn, a little
-older-looking than her age, which must have been nearly
-thirty.  But there was about her the mysterious authority
-of beauty, a sureness in the carriage of the head, the
-movement of the eyes, which, without being in the least
-theatrical, struck his as highly trained and full of a
-conscious power.  At the same time she was simpler in
-manner than most of the ladies present, and many
-people (as he heard afterward from Janey) were disappointed
-that her appearance was not more "stylish"
---for stylishness was what New York most valued.  It
-was, perhaps, Archer reflected, because her early vivacity
-had disappeared; because she was so quiet--quiet in
-her movements, her voice, and the tones of her low-
-pitched voice.  New York had expected something a
-good deal more reasonant in a young woman with such
-a history.
-
-The dinner was a somewhat formidable business.
-Dining with the van der Luydens was at best no light
-matter, and dining there with a Duke who was their
-cousin was almost a religious solemnity.  It pleased
-Archer to think that only an old New Yorker could
-perceive the shade of difference (to New York) between
-being merely a Duke and being the van der Luydens'
-Duke.  New York took stray noblemen calmly, and
-even (except in the Struthers set) with a certain distrustful
-hauteur; but when they presented such credentials
-as these they were received with an old-fashioned
-cordiality that they would have been greatly mistaken in
-ascribing solely to their standing in Debrett.  It was for
-just such distinctions that the young man cherished his
-old New York even while he smiled at it.
-
-The van der Luydens had done their best to emphasise
-the importance of the occasion.  The du Lac Sevres
-and the Trevenna George II plate were out; so was the
-van der Luyden "Lowestoft" (East India Company)
-and the Dagonet Crown Derby.  Mrs. van der Luyden
-looked more than ever like a Cabanel, and Mrs. Archer,
-in her grandmother's seed-pearls and emeralds, reminded
-her son of an Isabey miniature.  All the ladies had on
-their handsomest jewels, but it was characteristic of the
-house and the occasion that these were mostly in rather
-heavy old-fashioned settings; and old Miss Lanning,
-who had been persuaded to come, actually wore her
-mother's cameos and a Spanish blonde shawl.
-
-The Countess Olenska was the only young woman at
-the dinner; yet, as Archer scanned the smooth plump
-elderly faces between their diamond necklaces and
-towering ostrich feathers, they struck him as curiously
-immature compared with hers.  It frightened him to
-think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.
-
-The Duke of St. Austrey, who sat at his hostess's
-right, was naturally the chief figure of the evening.  But
-if the Countess Olenska was less conspicuous than had
-been hoped, the Duke was almost invisible.  Being a
-well-bred man he had not (like another recent ducal
-visitor) come to the dinner in a shooting-jacket; but his
-evening clothes were so shabby and baggy, and he
-wore them with such an air of their being homespun,
-that (with his stooping way of sitting, and the vast
-beard spreading over his shirt-front) he hardly gave the
-appearance of being in dinner attire.  He was short,
-round-shouldered, sunburnt, with a thick nose, small
-eyes and a sociable smile; but he seldom spoke, and
-when he did it was in such low tones that, despite the
-frequent silences of expectation about the table, his
-remarks were lost to all but his neighbours.
-
-When the men joined the ladies after dinner the
-Duke went straight up to the Countess Olenska, and
-they sat down in a corner and plunged into animated
-talk.  Neither seemed aware that the Duke should first
-have paid his respects to Mrs. Lovell Mingott and Mrs. Headly
-Chivers, and the Countess have conversed with
-that amiable hypochondriac, Mr. Urban Dagonet of
-Washington Square, who, in order to have the pleasure
-of meeting her, had broken through his fixed rule of
-not dining out between January and April.  The two
-chatted together for nearly twenty minutes; then the
-Countess rose and, walking alone across the wide
-drawing-room, sat down at Newland Archer's side.
-
-It was not the custom in New York drawing-rooms
-for a lady to get up and walk away from one gentleman
-in order to seek the company of another.  Etiquette
-required that she should wait, immovable as an idol,
-while the men who wished to converse with her succeeded
-each other at her side.  But the Countess was
-apparently unaware of having broken any rule; she sat
-at perfect ease in a corner of the sofa beside Archer,
-and looked at him with the kindest eyes.
-
-"I want you to talk to me about May," she said.
-
-Instead of answering her he asked:  "You knew the
-Duke before?"
-
-"Oh, yes--we used to see him every winter at Nice.
-He's very fond of gambling--he used to come to the
-house a great deal."  She said it in the simplest manner,
-as if she had said:  "He's fond of wild-flowers"; and
-after a moment she added candidly:  "I think he's the
-dullest man I ever met."
-
-This pleased her companion so much that he forgot
-the slight shock her previous remark had caused him.  It
-was undeniably exciting to meet a lady who found the
-van der Luydens' Duke dull, and dared to utter the
-opinion.  He longed to question her, to hear more about
-the life of which her careless words had given him so
-illuminating a glimpse; but he feared to touch on
-distressing memories, and before he could think of
-anything to say she had strayed back to her original subject.
-
-"May is a darling; I've seen no young girl in New
-York so handsome and so intelligent.  Are you very
-much in love with her?"
-
-Newland Archer reddened and laughed.  "As much as
-a man can be."
-
-She continued to consider him thoughtfully, as if not
-to miss any shade of meaning in what he said, "Do you
-think, then, there is a limit?"
-
-"To being in love?  If there is, I haven't found it!"
-
-She glowed with sympathy.  "Ah--it's really and truly
-a romance?"
-
-"The most romantic of romances!"
-
-"How delightful!  And you found it all out for
-yourselves--it was not in the least arranged for you?"
-
-Archer looked at her incredulously.  "Have you
-forgotten," he asked with a smile, "that in our country we
-don't allow our marriages to be arranged for us?"
-
-A dusky blush rose to her cheek, and he instantly
-regretted his words.
-
-"Yes," she answered, "I'd forgotten.  You must
-forgive me if I sometimes make these mistakes.  I don't
-always remember that everything here is good that
-was--that was bad where I've come from."  She looked
-down at her Viennese fan of eagle feathers, and he saw
-that her lips trembled.
-
-"I'm so sorry," he said impulsively; "but you ARE
-among friends here, you know."
-
-"Yes--I know.  Wherever I go I have that feeling.
-That's why I came home.  I want to forget everything
-else, to become a complete American again, like the
-Mingotts and Wellands, and you and your delightful
-mother, and all the other good people here tonight.  Ah,
-here's May arriving, and you will want to hurry away
-to her," she added, but without moving; and her eyes
-turned back from the door to rest on the young man's
-face.
-
-The drawing-rooms were beginning to fill up with
-after-dinner guests, and following Madame Olenska's
-glance Archer saw May Welland entering with her
-mother.  In her dress of white and silver, with a wreath
-of silver blossoms in her hair, the tall girl looked like a
-Diana just alight from the chase.
-
-"Oh," said Archer, "I have so many rivals; you see
-she's already surrounded.  There's the Duke being
-introduced."
-
-"Then stay with me a little longer," Madame Olenska
-said in a low tone, just touching his knee with her
-plumed fan.  It was the lightest touch, but it thrilled him
-like a caress.
-
-"Yes, let me stay," he answered in the same tone,
-hardly knowing what he said; but just then Mr. van
-der Luyden came up, followed by old Mr. Urban
-Dagonet.  The Countess greeted them with her grave
-smile, and Archer, feeling his host's admonitory glance
-on him, rose and surrendered his seat.
-
-Madame Olenska held out her hand as if to bid him
-goodbye.
-
-"Tomorrow, then, after five--I shall expect you,"
-she said; and then turned back to make room for Mr.
-Dagonet.
-
-"Tomorrow--" Archer heard himself repeating,
-though there had been no engagement, and during their
-talk she had given him no hint that she wished to see
-him again.
-
-As he moved away he saw Lawrence Lefferts, tall
-and resplendent, leading his wife up to be introduced;
-and heard Gertrude Lefferts say, as she beamed on the
-Countess with her large unperceiving smile:  "But I
-think we used to go to dancing-school together when
-we were children--."  Behind her, waiting their turn to
-name themselves to the Countess, Archer noticed a
-number of the recalcitrant couples who had declined to
-meet her at Mrs. Lovell Mingott's.  As Mrs. Archer
-remarked: when the van der Luydens chose, they knew
-how to give a lesson.  The wonder was that they chose
-so seldom.
-
-The young man felt a touch on his arm and saw Mrs.
-van der Luyden looking down on him from the pure
-eminence of black velvet and the family diamonds.  "It
-was good of you, dear Newland, to devote yourself so
-unselfishly to Madame Olenska.  I told your cousin
-Henry he must really come to the rescue."
-
-He was aware of smiling at her vaguely, and she
-added, as if condescending to his natural shyness:  "I've
-never seen May looking lovelier.  The Duke thinks her
-the handsomest girl in the room."
-
-
-
-IX.
-
-The Countess Olenska had said "after five"; and at
-half after the hour Newland Archer rang the bell
-of the peeling stucco house with a giant wisteria throttling
-its feeble cast-iron balcony, which she had hired,
-far down West Twenty-third Street, from the vagabond
-Medora.
-
-It was certainly a strange quarter to have settled in.
-Small dress-makers, bird-stuffers and "people who
-wrote" were her nearest neighbours; and further down
-the dishevelled street Archer recognised a dilapidated
-wooden house, at the end of a paved path, in which a
-writer and journalist called Winsett, whom he used to
-come across now and then, had mentioned that he
-lived.  Winsett did not invite people to his house; but he
-had once pointed it out to Archer in the course of a
-nocturnal stroll, and the latter had asked himself, with
-a little shiver, if the humanities were so meanly housed
-in other capitals.
-
-Madame Olenska's own dwelling was redeemed from
-the same appearance only by a little more paint about
-the window-frames; and as Archer mustered its modest
-front he said to himself that the Polish Count must
-have robbed her of her fortune as well as of her illusions.
-
-The young man had spent an unsatisfactory day.  He
-had lunched with the Wellands, hoping afterward to
-carry off May for a walk in the Park.  He wanted to
-have her to himself, to tell her how enchanting she had
-looked the night before, and how proud he was of her,
-and to press her to hasten their marriage.  But Mrs.
-Welland had firmly reminded him that the round of
-family visits was not half over, and, when he hinted at
-advancing the date of the wedding, had raised reproachful
-eye-brows and sighed out:  "Twelve dozen of
-everything--hand-embroidered--"
-
-Packed in the family landau they rolled from one
-tribal doorstep to another, and Archer, when the afternoon's
-round was over, parted from his betrothed with
-the feeling that he had been shown off like a wild
-animal cunningly trapped.  He supposed that his readings
-in anthropology caused him to take such a coarse
-view of what was after all a simple and natural
-demonstration of family feeling; but when he remembered
-that the Wellands did not expect the wedding to take
-place till the following autumn, and pictured what his
-life would be till then, a dampness fell upon his spirit.
-
-"Tomorrow," Mrs. Welland called after him, "we'll
-do the Chiverses and the Dallases"; and he perceived
-that she was going through their two families alphabetically,
-and that they were only in the first quarter of the
-alphabet.
-
-He had meant to tell May of the Countess Olenska's
-request--her command, rather--that he should call on
-her that afternoon; but in the brief moments when they
-were alone he had had more pressing things to say.
-Besides, it struck him as a little absurd to allude to the
-matter.  He knew that May most particularly wanted
-him to be kind to her cousin; was it not that wish
-which had hastened the announcement of their engagement?
-It gave him an odd sensation to reflect that, but
-for the Countess's arrival, he might have been, if not
-still a free man, at least a man less irrevocably pledged.
-But May had willed it so, and he felt himself somehow
-relieved of further responsibility--and therefore at liberty,
-if he chose, to call on her cousin without telling
-her.
-
-As he stood on Madame Olenska's threshold curiosity
-was his uppermost feeling.  He was puzzled by the
-tone in which she had summoned him; he concluded
-that she was less simple than she seemed.
-
-The door was opened by a swarthy foreign-looking
-maid, with a prominent bosom under a gay neckerchief,
-whom he vaguely fancied to be Sicilian.  She
-welcomed him with all her white teeth, and answering
-his enquiries by a head-shake of incomprehension led
-him through the narrow hall into a low firelit drawing-
-room.  The room was empty, and she left him, for an
-appreciable time, to wonder whether she had gone to
-find her mistress, or whether she had not understood
-what he was there for, and thought it might be to wind
-the clock--of which he perceived that the only visible
-specimen had stopped.  He knew that the southern races
-communicated with each other in the language of
-pantomime, and was mortified to find her shrugs and
-smiles so unintelligible.  At length she returned with a
-lamp; and Archer, having meanwhile put together a
-phrase out of Dante and Petrarch, evoked the answer:
-"La signora e fuori; ma verra subito"; which he took
-to mean:  "She's out--but you'll soon see."
-
-What he saw, meanwhile, with the help of the lamp,
-was the faded shadowy charm of a room unlike any
-room he had known.  He knew that the Countess Olenska
-had brought some of her possessions with her--bits of
-wreckage, she called them--and these, he supposed,
-were represented by some small slender tables of dark
-wood, a delicate little Greek bronze on the chimney-
-piece, and a stretch of red damask nailed on the
-discoloured wallpaper behind a couple of Italian-looking
-pictures in old frames.
-
-Newland Archer prided himself on his knowledge of
-Italian art.  His boyhood had been saturated with
-Ruskin, and he had read all the latest books: John Addington
-Symonds, Vernon Lee's "Euphorion," the essays of P.
-G. Hamerton, and a wonderful new volume called
-"The Renaissance" by Walter Pater.  He talked easily of
-Botticelli, and spoke of Fra Angelico with a faint
-condescension.  But these pictures bewildered him, for they
-were like nothing that he was accustomed to look at
-(and therefore able to see) when he travelled in Italy;
-and perhaps, also, his powers of observation were
-impaired by the oddness of finding himself in this strange
-empty house, where apparently no one expected him.
-He was sorry that he had not told May Welland of
-Countess Olenska's request, and a little disturbed by
-the thought that his betrothed might come in to see her
-cousin.  What would she think if she found him sitting
-there with the air of intimacy implied by waiting alone
-in the dusk at a lady's fireside?
-
-But since he had come he meant to wait; and he sank
-into a chair and stretched his feet to the logs.
-
-It was odd to have summoned him in that way, and
-then forgotten him; but Archer felt more curious than
-mortified.  The atmosphere of the room was so different
-from any he had ever breathed that self-consciousness
-vanished in the sense of adventure.  He had been before
-in drawing-rooms hung with red damask, with pictures
-"of the Italian school"; what struck him was the way
-in which Medora Manson's shabby hired house, with
-its blighted background of pampas grass and Rogers
-statuettes, had, by a turn of the hand, and the skilful
-use of a few properties, been transformed into something
-intimate, "foreign," subtly suggestive of old
-romantic scenes and sentiments.  He tried to analyse the
-trick, to find a clue to it in the way the chairs and
-tables were grouped, in the fact that only two Jacqueminot
-roses (of which nobody ever bought less than a
-dozen) had been placed in the slender vase at his elbow,
-and in the vague pervading perfume that was not
-what one put on handkerchiefs, but rather like the
-scent of some far-off bazaar, a smell made up of Turkish
-coffee and ambergris and dried roses.
-
-His mind wandered away to the question of what
-May's drawing-room would look like.  He knew that
-Mr. Welland, who was behaving "very handsomely,"
-already had his eye on a newly built house in East
-Thirty-ninth Street.  The neighbourhood was thought
-remote, and the house was built in a ghastly greenish-
-yellow stone that the younger architects were beginning
-to employ as a protest against the brownstone of which
-the uniform hue coated New York like a cold chocolate
-sauce; but the plumbing was perfect.  Archer would
-have liked to travel, to put off the housing question;
-but, though the Wellands approved of an extended
-European honeymoon (perhaps even a winter in Egypt),
-they were firm as to the need of a house for the
-returning couple.  The young man felt that his fate was
-sealed: for the rest of his life he would go up every
-evening between the cast-iron railings of that greenish-
-yellow doorstep, and pass through a Pompeian vestibule
-into a hall with a wainscoting of varnished yellow
-wood.  But beyond that his imagination could not travel.
-He knew the drawing-room above had a bay window,
-but he could not fancy how May would deal with it.
-She submitted cheerfully to the purple satin and yellow
-tuftings of the Welland drawing-room, to its sham Buhl
-tables and gilt vitrines full of modern Saxe.  He saw no
-reason to suppose that she would want anything different
-in her own house; and his only comfort was to
-reflect that she would probably let him arrange his
-library as he pleased--which would be, of course, with
-"sincere" Eastlake furniture, and the plain new bookcases
-without glass doors.
-
-The round-bosomed maid came in, drew the
-curtains, pushed back a log, and said consolingly:
-"Verra--verra."  When she had gone Archer stood up
-and began to wander about.  Should he wait any longer?
-His position was becoming rather foolish.  Perhaps he
-had misunderstood Madame Olenska--perhaps she had
-not invited him after all.
-
-Down the cobblestones of the quiet street came the
-ring of a stepper's hoofs; they stopped before the house,
-and he caught the opening of a carriage door.  Parting
-the curtains he looked out into the early dusk.  A street-
-lamp faced him, and in its light he saw Julius Beaufort's
-compact English brougham, drawn by a big roan,
-and the banker descending from it, and helping out
-Madame Olenska.
-
-Beaufort stood, hat in hand, saying something which
-his companion seemed to negative; then they shook
-hands, and he jumped into his carriage while she
-mounted the steps.
-
-When she entered the room she showed no surprise
-at seeing Archer there; surprise seemed the emotion
-that she was least addicted to.
-
-"How do you like my funny house?" she asked.  "To
-me it's like heaven."
-
-As she spoke she untied her little velvet bonnet and
-tossing it away with her long cloak stood looking at
-him with meditative eyes.
-
-"You've arranged it delightfully," he rejoined, alive
-to the flatness of the words, but imprisoned in the
-conventional by his consuming desire to be simple and
-striking.
-
-"Oh, it's a poor little place.  My relations despise it.
-But at any rate it's less gloomy than the van der
-Luydens'."
-
-The words gave him an electric shock, for few were
-the rebellious spirits who would have dared to call the
-stately home of the van der Luydens gloomy.  Those
-privileged to enter it shivered there, and spoke of it as
-"handsome."  But suddenly he was glad that she had
-given voice to the general shiver.
-
-"It's delicious--what you've done here," he repeated.
-
-"I like the little house," she admitted; "but I suppose
-what I like is the blessedness of its being here, in my
-own country and my own town; and then, of being
-alone in it."  She spoke so low that he hardly heard the
-last phrase; but in his awkwardness he took it up.
-
-"You like so much to be alone?"
-
-"Yes; as long as my friends keep me from feeling
-lonely."  She sat down near the fire, said:  "Nastasia will
-bring the tea presently," and signed to him to return to
-his armchair, adding:  "I see you've already chosen your
-corner."
-
-Leaning back, she folded her arms behind her head,
-and looked at the fire under drooping lids.
-
-"This is the hour I like best--don't you?"
-
-A proper sense of his dignity caused him to answer:
-"I was afraid you'd forgotten the hour.  Beaufort must
-have been very engrossing."
-
-She looked amused.  "Why--have you waited long?
-Mr. Beaufort took me to see a number of houses--
-since it seems I'm not to be allowed to stay in this
-one."  She appeared to dismiss both Beaufort and himself
-from her mind, and went on:  "I've never been in a
-city where there seems to be such a feeling against
-living in des quartiers excentriques.  What does it
-matter where one lives?  I'm told this street is respectable."
-
-"It's not fashionable."
-
-"Fashionable!  Do you all think so much of that?
-Why not make one's own fashions?  But I suppose I've
-lived too independently; at any rate, I want to do what
-you all do--I want to feel cared for and safe."
-
-He was touched, as he had been the evening before
-when she spoke of her need of guidance.
-
-"That's what your friends want you to feel.  New
-York's an awfully safe place," he added with a flash of
-sarcasm.
-
-"Yes, isn't it?  One feels that," she cried, missing the
-mockery.  "Being here is like--like--being taken on a
-holiday when one has been a good little girl and done
-all one's lessons."
-
-The analogy was well meant, but did not altogether
-please him.  He did not mind being flippant about New
-York, but disliked to hear any one else take the same
-tone.  He wondered if she did not begin to see what a
-powerful engine it was, and how nearly it had crushed
-her.  The Lovell Mingotts' dinner, patched up in extremis
-out of all sorts of social odds and ends, ought to have
-taught her the narrowness of her escape; but either she
-had been all along unaware of having skirted disaster,
-or else she had lost sight of it in the triumph of the van
-der Luyden evening.  Archer inclined to the former theory;
-he fancied that her New York was still completely
-undifferentiated, and the conjecture nettled him.
-
-"Last night," he said, "New York laid itself out for
-you.  The van der Luydens do nothing by halves."
-
-"No: how kind they are!  It was such a nice party.
-Every one seems to have such an esteem for them."
-
-The terms were hardly adequate; she might have
-spoken in that way of a tea-party at the dear old Miss
-Lannings'.
-
-"The van der Luydens," said Archer, feeling himself
-pompous as he spoke, "are the most powerful influence
-in New York society.  Unfortunately--owing to her
-health--they receive very seldom."
-
-She unclasped her hands from behind her head, and
-looked at him meditatively.
-
-"Isn't that perhaps the reason?"
-
-"The reason--?"
-
-"For their great influence; that they make themselves
-so rare."
-
-He coloured a little, stared at her--and suddenly felt
-the penetration of the remark.  At a stroke she had
-pricked the van der Luydens and they collapsed.  He
-laughed, and sacrificed them.
-
-Nastasia brought the tea, with handleless Japanese
-cups and little covered dishes, placing the tray on a low
-table.
-
-"But you'll explain these things to me--you'll tell me
-all I ought to know," Madame Olenska continued,
-leaning forward to hand him his cup.
-
-"It's you who are telling me; opening my eyes to
-things I'd looked at so long that I'd ceased to see
-them."
-
-She detached a small gold cigarette-case from one of
-her bracelets, held it out to him, and took a cigarette
-herself.  On the chimney were long spills for lighting
-them.
-
-"Ah, then we can both help each other.  But I want
-help so much more.  You must tell me just what to do."
-
-It was on the tip of his tongue to reply:  "Don't be
-seen driving about the streets with Beaufort--" but he
-was being too deeply drawn into the atmosphere of the
-room, which was her atmosphere, and to give advice of
-that sort would have been like telling some one who
-was bargaining for attar-of-roses in Samarkand that one
-should always be provided with arctics for a New York
-winter.  New York seemed much farther off than
-Samarkand, and if they were indeed to help each other
-she was rendering what might prove the first of their
-mutual services by making him look at his native city
-objectively.  Viewed thus, as through the wrong end of
-a telescope, it looked disconcertingly small and distant;
-but then from Samarkand it would.
-
-A flame darted from the logs and she bent over the
-fire, stretching her thin hands so close to it that a faint
-halo shone about the oval nails.  The light touched to
-russet the rings of dark hair escaping from her braids,
-and made her pale face paler.
-
-"There are plenty of people to tell you what to do,"
-Archer rejoined, obscurely envious of them.
-
-"Oh--all my aunts?  And my dear old Granny?"  She
-considered the idea impartially.  "They're all a little
-vexed with me for setting up for myself--poor Granny
-especially.  She wanted to keep me with her; but I had
-to be free--"  He was impressed by this light way of
-speaking of the formidable Catherine, and moved by
-the thought of what must have given Madame Olenska
-this thirst for even the loneliest kind of freedom.  But
-the idea of Beaufort gnawed him.
-
-"I think I understand how you feel," he said.  "Still,
-your family can advise you; explain differences; show
-you the way."
-
-She lifted her thin black eyebrows.  "Is New York
-such a labyrinth?  I thought it so straight up and down--
-like Fifth Avenue.  And with all the cross streets
-numbered!"  She seemed to guess his faint disapproval of
-this, and added, with the rare smile that enchanted her
-whole face:  "If you knew how I like it for just THAT--
-the straight-up-and-downness, and the big honest labels on everything!"
-
-He saw his chance.  "Everything may be labelled--
-but everybody is not."
-
-"Perhaps.  I may simplify too much--but you'll warn
-me if I do."  She turned from the fire to look at him.
-"There are only two people here who make me feel as
-if they understood what I mean and could explain
-things to me: you and Mr. Beaufort."
-
-Archer winced at the joining of the names, and then,
-with a quick readjustment, understood, sympathised
-and pitied.  So close to the powers of evil she must have
-lived that she still breathed more freely in their air.  But
-since she felt that he understood her also, his business
-would be to make her see Beaufort as he really was,
-with all he represented--and abhor it.
-
-He answered gently:  "I understand.  But just at first
-don't let go of your old friends' hands: I mean the
-older women, your Granny Mingott, Mrs. Welland,
-Mrs. van der Luyden.  They like and admire you--they
-want to help you."
-
-She shook her head and sighed.  "Oh, I know--I
-know!  But on condition that they don't hear anything
-unpleasant.  Aunt Welland put it in those very words
-when I tried. . . .  Does no one want to know the truth
-here, Mr. Archer?  The real loneliness is living among
-all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!"
-She lifted her hands to her face, and he saw her thin
-shoulders shaken by a sob.
-
-"Madame Olenska!--Oh, don't, Ellen," he cried, starting
-up and bending over her.  He drew down one of her
-hands, clasping and chafing it like a child's while he
-murmured reassuring words; but in a moment she freed
-herself, and looked up at him with wet lashes.
-
-"Does no one cry here, either?  I suppose there's no
-need to, in heaven," she said, straightening her loosened
-braids with a laugh, and bending over the tea-
-kettle.  It was burnt into his consciousness that he had
-called her "Ellen"--called her so twice; and that she
-had not noticed it.  Far down the inverted telescope he
-saw the faint white figure of May Welland--in New
-York.
-
-Suddenly Nastasia put her head in to say something
-in her rich Italian.
-
-Madame Olenska, again with a hand at her hair,
-uttered an exclamation of assent--a flashing "Gia--
-gia"--and the Duke of St. Austrey entered, piloting
-a tremendous blackwigged and red-plumed lady in overflowing furs.
-
-"My dear Countess, I've brought an old friend of
-mine to see you--Mrs. Struthers.  She wasn't asked to
-the party last night, and she wants to know you."
-
-The Duke beamed on the group, and Madame Olenska
-advanced with a murmur of welcome toward the queer
-couple.  She seemed to have no idea how oddly matched
-they were, nor what a liberty the Duke had taken in
-bringing his companion--and to do him justice, as
-Archer perceived, the Duke seemed as unaware of it
-himself.
-
-"Of course I want to know you, my dear," cried
-Mrs. Struthers in a round rolling voice that matched
-her bold feathers and her brazen wig.  "I want to know
-everybody who's young and interesting and charming.
-And the Duke tells me you like music--didn't you,
-Duke?  You're a pianist yourself, I believe?  Well, do
-you want to hear Sarasate play tomorrow evening at
-my house?  You know I've something going on every
-Sunday evening--it's the day when New York doesn't
-know what to do with itself, and so I say to it:  `Come
-and be amused.'  And the Duke thought you'd be tempted
-by Sarasate.  You'll find a number of your friends."
-
-Madame Olenska's face grew brilliant with pleasure.
-"How kind!  How good of the Duke to think of me!"
-She pushed a chair up to the tea-table and Mrs. Struthers
-sank into it delectably.  "Of course I shall be too
-happy to come."
-
-"That's all right, my dear.  And bring your young
-gentleman with you."  Mrs. Struthers extended a hail-
-fellow hand to Archer.  "I can't put a name to you--but
-I'm sure I've met you--I've met everybody, here, or in
-Paris or London.  Aren't you in diplomacy?  All the
-diplomatists come to me.  You like music too?  Duke,
-you must be sure to bring him."
-
-The Duke said "Rather" from the depths of his
-beard, and Archer withdrew with a stiffly circular bow
-that made him feel as full of spine as a self-conscious
-school-boy among careless and unnoticing elders.
-
-He was not sorry for the denouement of his visit:
-he only wished it had come sooner, and spared him a
-certain waste of emotion.  As he went out into the
-wintry night, New York again became vast and imminent,
-and May Welland the loveliest woman in it.  He
-turned into his florist's to send her the daily box of
-lilies-of-the-valley which, to his confusion, he found he
-had forgotten that morning.
-
-As he wrote a word on his card and waited for an
-envelope he glanced about the embowered shop, and
-his eye lit on a cluster of yellow roses.  He had never
-seen any as sun-golden before, and his first impulse
-was to send them to May instead of the lilies.  But they
-did not look like her--there was something too rich,
-too strong, in their fiery beauty.  In a sudden revulsion
-of mood, and almost without knowing what he did, he
-signed to the florist to lay the roses in another long
-box, and slipped his card into a second envelope, on
-which he wrote the name of the Countess Olenska;
-then, just as he was turning away, he drew the card out
-again, and left the empty envelope on the box.
-
-"They'll go at once?" he enquired, pointing to the
-roses.
-
-The florist assured him that they would.
-
-
-
-X.
-
-The next day he persuaded May to escape for a walk
-in the Park after luncheon.  As was the custom in
-old-fashioned Episcopalian New York, she usually
-accompanied her parents to church on Sunday afternoons;
-but Mrs. Welland condoned her truancy, having that
-very morning won her over to the necessity of a long
-engagement, with time to prepare a hand-embroidered
-trousseau containing the proper number of dozens.
-
-The day was delectable.  The bare vaulting of trees
-along the Mall was ceiled with lapis lazuli, and arched
-above snow that shone like splintered crystals.  It was
-the weather to call out May's radiance, and she burned
-like a young maple in the frost.  Archer was proud of
-the glances turned on her, and the simple joy of
-possessorship cleared away his underlying perplexities.
-
-"It's so delicious--waking every morning to smell
-lilies-of-the-valley in one's room!" she said.
-
-"Yesterday they came late.  I hadn't time in the
-morning--"
-
-"But your remembering each day to send them makes
-me love them so much more than if you'd given a
-standing order, and they came every morning on the
-minute, like one's music-teacher--as I know Gertrude
-Lefferts's did, for instance, when she and Lawrence
-were engaged."
-
-"Ah--they would!" laughed Archer, amused at her
-keenness.  He looked sideways at her fruit-like cheek
-and felt rich and secure enough to add:  "When I sent
-your lilies yesterday afternoon I saw some rather
-gorgeous yellow roses and packed them off to Madame
-Olenska.  Was that right?"
-
-"How dear of you!  Anything of that kind delights
-her.  It's odd she didn't mention it: she lunched with us
-today, and spoke of Mr. Beaufort's having sent her
-wonderful orchids, and cousin Henry van der Luyden a
-whole hamper of carnations from Skuytercliff.  She seems
-so surprised to receive flowers.  Don't people send them
-in Europe?  She thinks it such a pretty custom."
-
-"Oh, well, no wonder mine were overshadowed by
-Beaufort's," said Archer irritably.  Then he remembered
-that he had not put a card with the roses, and
-was vexed at having spoken of them.  He wanted to
-say:  "I called on your cousin yesterday," but hesitated.
-If Madame Olenska had not spoken of his visit it might
-seem awkward that he should.  Yet not to do so gave
-the affair an air of mystery that he disliked.  To shake
-off the question he began to talk of their own plans,
-their future, and Mrs. Welland's insistence on a long
-engagement.
-
-"If you call it long!  Isabel Chivers and Reggie were
-engaged for two years: Grace and Thorley for nearly a
-year and a half.  Why aren't we very well off as we
-are?"
-
-It was the traditional maidenly interrogation, and he
-felt ashamed of himself for finding it singularly childish.
-No doubt she simply echoed what was said for her;
-but she was nearing her twenty-second birthday, and
-he wondered at what age "nice" women began to
-speak for themselves.
-
-"Never, if we won't let them, I suppose," he mused,
-and recalled his mad outburst to Mr. Sillerton Jackson:
-"Women ought to be as free as we are--"
-
-It would presently be his task to take the bandage
-from this young woman's eyes, and bid her look forth
-on the world.  But how many generations of the women
-who had gone to her making had descended bandaged
-to the family vault?  He shivered a little, remembering
-some of the new ideas in his scientific books, and the
-much-cited instance of the Kentucky cave-fish, which
-had ceased to develop eyes because they had no use for
-them.  What if, when he had bidden May Welland to
-open hers, they could only look out blankly at blankness?
-
-"We might be much better off.  We might be
-altogether together--we might travel."
-
-Her face lit up.  "That would be lovely," she owned:
-she would love to travel.  But her mother would not
-understand their wanting to do things so differently.
-
-"As if the mere `differently' didn't account for it!"
-the wooer insisted.
-
-"Newland!  You're so original!" she exulted.
-
-His heart sank, for he saw that he was saying all the
-things that young men in the same situation were
-expected to say, and that she was making the answers
-that instinct and tradition taught her to make--even to
-the point of calling him original.
-
-"Original!  We're all as like each other as those dolls
-cut out of the same folded paper.  We're like patterns
-stencilled on a wall.  Can't you and I strike out for
-ourselves, May?"
-
-He had stopped and faced her in the excitement of
-their discussion, and her eyes rested on him with a
-bright unclouded admiration.
-
-"Mercy--shall we elope?" she laughed.
-
-"If you would--"
-
-"You DO love me, Newland!  I'm so happy."
-
-"But then--why not be happier?"
-
-"We can't behave like people in novels, though, can
-we?"
-
-"Why not--why not--why not?"
-
-She looked a little bored by his insistence.  She knew
-very well that they couldn't, but it was troublesome to
-have to produce a reason.  "I'm not clever enough to
-argue with you.  But that kind of thing is rather--vulgar,
-isn't it?" she suggested, relieved to have hit on a word
-that would assuredly extinguish the whole subject.
-
-"Are you so much afraid, then, of being vulgar?"
-
-She was evidently staggered by this.  "Of course I
-should hate it--so would you," she rejoined, a trifle
-irritably.
-
-He stood silent, beating his stick nervously against
-his boot-top; and feeling that she had indeed found the
-right way of closing the discussion, she went on light-
-heartedly:  "Oh, did I tell you that I showed Ellen my
-ring?  She thinks it the most beautiful setting she ever
-saw.  There's nothing like it in the rue de la Paix, she
-said.  I do love you, Newland, for being so artistic!"
-
-
-The next afternoon, as Archer, before dinner, sat
-smoking sullenly in his study, Janey wandered in on
-him.  He had failed to stop at his club on the way up
-from the office where he exercised the profession of the
-law in the leisurely manner common to well-to-do New
-Yorkers of his class.  He was out of spirits and slightly
-out of temper, and a haunting horror of doing the same
-thing every day at the same hour besieged his brain.
-
-"Sameness--sameness!" he muttered, the word
-running through his head like a persecuting tune as he saw
-the familiar tall-hatted figures lounging behind the plate-
-glass; and because he usually dropped in at the club at
-that hour he had gone home instead.  He knew not only
-what they were likely to be talking about, but the part
-each one would take in the discussion.  The Duke of
-course would be their principal theme; though the
-appearance in Fifth Avenue of a golden-haired lady in a
-small canary-coloured brougham with a pair of black
-cobs (for which Beaufort was generally thought
-responsible) would also doubtless be thoroughly gone
-into.  Such "women" (as they were called) were few in
-New York, those driving their own carriages still fewer,
-and the appearance of Miss Fanny Ring in Fifth Avenue
-at the fashionable hour had profoundly agitated
-society.  Only the day before, her carriage had passed
-Mrs. Lovell Mingott's, and the latter had instantly rung
-the little bell at her elbow and ordered the coachman to
-drive her home.  "What if it had happened to Mrs. van
-der Luyden?" people asked each other with a shudder.
-Archer could hear Lawrence Lefferts, at that very hour,
-holding forth on the disintegration of society.
-
-He raised his head irritably when his sister Janey
-entered, and then quickly bent over his book (Swinburne's
-"Chastelard"--just out) as if he had not seen
-her.  She glanced at the writing-table heaped with books,
-opened a volume of the "Contes Drolatiques," made
-a wry face over the archaic French, and sighed:  "What
-learned things you read!"
-
-"Well--?" he asked, as she hovered Cassandra-like
-before him.
-
-"Mother's very angry."
-
-"Angry?  With whom?  About what?"
-
-"Miss Sophy Jackson has just been here.  She brought
-word that her brother would come in after dinner: she
-couldn't say very much, because he forbade her to: he
-wishes to give all the details himself.  He's with cousin
-Louisa van der Luyden now."
-
-"For heaven's sake, my dear girl, try a fresh start.  It
-would take an omniscient Deity to know what you're
-talking about."
-
-"It's not a time to be profane, Newland. . . .  Mother
-feels badly enough about your not going to church . . ."
-
-With a groan he plunged back into his book.
-
-"NEWLAND!  Do listen.  Your friend Madame Olenska
-was at Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's party last night: she
-went there with the Duke and Mr. Beaufort."
-
-At the last clause of this announcement a senseless
-anger swelled the young man's breast.  To smother it he
-laughed.  "Well, what of it?  I knew she meant to."
-
-Janey paled and her eyes began to project.  "You
-knew she meant to--and you didn't try to stop her?  To
-warn her?"
-
-"Stop her?  Warn her?"  He laughed again.  "I'm not
-engaged to be married to the Countess Olenska!"  The
-words had a fantastic sound in his own ears.
-
-"You're marrying into her family."
-
-"Oh, family--family!" he jeered.
-
-"Newland--don't you care about Family?"
-
-"Not a brass farthing."
-
-"Nor about what cousin Louisa van der Luyden will
-think?"
-
-"Not the half of one--if she thinks such old maid's
-rubbish."
-
-"Mother is not an old maid," said his virgin sister
-with pinched lips.
-
-He felt like shouting back:  "Yes, she is, and so are
-the van der Luydens, and so we all are, when it comes
-to being so much as brushed by the wing-tip of Reality."
-But he saw her long gentle face puckering into
-tears, and felt ashamed of the useless pain he was
-inflicting.
-
-"Hang Countess Olenska!  Don't be a goose, Janey--
-I'm not her keeper."
-
-"No; but you DID ask the Wellands to announce
-your engagement sooner so that we might all back her
-up; and if it hadn't been for that cousin Louisa would
-never have invited her to the dinner for the Duke."
-
-"Well--what harm was there in inviting her?  She
-was the best-looking woman in the room; she made the
-dinner a little less funereal than the usual van der
-Luyden banquet."
-
-"You know cousin Henry asked her to please you:
-he persuaded cousin Louisa.  And now they're so upset
-that they're going back to Skuytercliff tomorrow.  I
-think, Newland, you'd better come down.  You don't
-seem to understand how mother feels."
-
-In the drawing-room Newland found his mother.  She
-raised a troubled brow from her needlework to ask:
-"Has Janey told you?"
-
-"Yes."  He tried to keep his tone as measured as her
-own.  "But I can't take it very seriously."
-
-"Not the fact of having offended cousin Louisa and
-cousin Henry?"
-
-"The fact that they can be offended by such a trifle
-as Countess Olenska's going to the house of a woman
-they consider common."
-
-"Consider--!"
-
-"Well, who is; but who has good music, and amuses
-people on Sunday evenings, when the whole of New
-York is dying of inanition."
-
-"Good music?  All I know is, there was a woman
-who got up on a table and sang the things they sing at
-the places you go to in Paris.  There was smoking and
-champagne."
-
-"Well--that kind of thing happens in other places,
-and the world still goes on."
-
-"I don't suppose, dear, you're really defending the
-French Sunday?"
-
-"I've heard you often enough, mother, grumble at
-the English Sunday when we've been in London."
-
-"New York is neither Paris nor London."
-
-"Oh, no, it's not!" her son groaned.
-
-"You mean, I suppose, that society here is not as
-brilliant?  You're right, I daresay; but we belong here,
-and people should respect our ways when they come
-among us.  Ellen Olenska especially: she came back to
-get away from the kind of life people lead in brilliant
-societies."
-
-Newland made no answer, and after a moment his
-mother ventured:  "I was going to put on my bonnet
-and ask you to take me to see cousin Louisa for a
-moment before dinner."  He frowned, and she continued:
-"I thought you might explain to her what you've
-just said: that society abroad is different . . . that people
-are not as particular, and that Madame Olenska
-may not have realised how we feel about such things.  It
-would be, you know, dear," she added with an innocent
-adroitness, "in Madame Olenska's interest if you
-did."
-
-"Dearest mother, I really don't see how we're
-concerned in the matter.  The Duke took Madame Olenska
-to Mrs. Struthers's--in fact he brought Mrs. Struthers
-to call on her.  I was there when they came.  If the van
-der Luydens want to quarrel with anybody, the real
-culprit is under their own roof."
-
-"Quarrel?  Newland, did you ever know of cousin
-Henry's quarrelling?  Besides, the Duke's his guest; and
-a stranger too.  Strangers don't discriminate: how should
-they?  Countess Olenska is a New Yorker, and should
-have respected the feelings of New York."
-
-"Well, then, if they must have a victim, you have my
-leave to throw Madame Olenska to them," cried her
-son, exasperated.  "I don't see myself--or you either--
-offering ourselves up to expiate her crimes."
-
-"Oh, of course you see only the Mingott side," his
-mother answered, in the sensitive tone that was her
-nearest approach to anger.
-
-The sad butler drew back the drawing-room
-portieres and announced:  "Mr. Henry van der Luyden."
-
-Mrs. Archer dropped her needle and pushed her
-chair back with an agitated hand.
-
-"Another lamp," she cried to the retreating servant,
-while Janey bent over to straighten her mother's cap.
-
-Mr. van der Luyden's figure loomed on the threshold,
-and Newland Archer went forward to greet his
-cousin.
-
-"We were just talking about you, sir," he said.
-
-Mr. van der Luyden seemed overwhelmed by the
-announcement.  He drew off his glove to shake hands
-with the ladies, and smoothed his tall hat shyly, while
-Janey pushed an arm-chair forward, and Archer
-continued:  "And the Countess Olenska."
-
-Mrs. Archer paled.
-
-"Ah--a charming woman.  I have just been to see
-her," said Mr. van der Luyden, complacency restored
-to his brow.  He sank into the chair, laid his hat and
-gloves on the floor beside him in the old-fashioned
-way, and went on:  "She has a real gift for arranging
-flowers.  I had sent her a few carnations from Skuytercliff,
-and I was astonished.  Instead of massing them in big
-bunches as our head-gardener does, she had scattered
-them about loosely, here and there . . . I can't say how.
-The Duke had told me: he said:  `Go and see how
-cleverly she's arranged her drawing-room.'  And she
-has.  I should really like to take Louisa to see her, if the
-neighbourhood were not so--unpleasant."
-
-A dead silence greeted this unusual flow of words
-from Mr. van der Luyden.  Mrs. Archer drew her
-embroidery out of the basket into which she had
-nervously tumbled it, and Newland, leaning against the
-chimney-place and twisting a humming-bird-feather
-screen in his hand, saw Janey's gaping countenance lit
-up by the coming of the second lamp.
-
-"The fact is," Mr. van der Luyden continued, stroking
-his long grey leg with a bloodless hand weighed
-down by the Patroon's great signet-ring, "the fact is, I
-dropped in to thank her for the very pretty note she
-wrote me about my flowers; and also--but this is
-between ourselves, of course--to give her a friendly warning
-about allowing the Duke to carry her off to parties
-with him.  I don't know if you've heard--"
-
-Mrs. Archer produced an indulgent smile.  "Has the
-Duke been carrying her off to parties?"
-
-"You know what these English grandees are.  They're
-all alike.  Louisa and I are very fond of our cousin--but
-it's hopeless to expect people who are accustomed to
-the European courts to trouble themselves about our
-little republican distinctions.  The Duke goes where he's
-amused."  Mr. van der Luyden paused, but no one
-spoke.  "Yes--it seems he took her with him last night
-to Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's.  Sillerton Jackson has just
-been to us with the foolish story, and Louisa was
-rather troubled.  So I thought the shortest way was to
-go straight to Countess Olenska and explain--by the
-merest hint, you know--how we feel in New York
-about certain things.  I felt I might, without indelicacy,
-because the evening she dined with us she rather
-suggested . . . rather let me see that she would be grateful
-for guidance.  And she WAS."
-
-Mr. van der Luyden looked about the room with
-what would have been self-satisfaction on features less
-purged of the vulgar passions.  On his face it became a
-mild benevolence which Mrs. Archer's countenance
-dutifully reflected.
-
-"How kind you both are, dear Henry--always!
-Newland will particularly appreciate what you have
-done because of dear May and his new relations."
-
-She shot an admonitory glance at her son, who said:
-"Immensely, sir.  But I was sure you'd like Madame
-Olenska."
-
-Mr. van der Luyden looked at him with extreme
-gentleness.  "I never ask to my house, my dear Newland,"
-he said, "any one whom I do not like.  And so I have
-just told Sillerton Jackson."  With a glance at the clock
-he rose and added:  "But Louisa will be waiting.  We are
-dining early, to take the Duke to the Opera."
-
-After the portieres had solemnly closed behind their
-visitor a silence fell upon the Archer family.
-
-"Gracious--how romantic!" at last broke explosively
-from Janey.  No one knew exactly what inspired her
-elliptic comments, and her relations had long since
-given up trying to interpret them.
-
-Mrs. Archer shook her head with a sigh.  "Provided it
-all turns out for the best," she said, in the tone of one
-who knows how surely it will not.  "Newland, you
-must stay and see Sillerton Jackson when he comes this
-evening: I really shan't know what to say to him."
-
-"Poor mother!  But he won't come--" her son laughed,
-stooping to kiss away her frown.
-
-
-
-XI.
-
-Some two weeks later, Newland Archer, sitting in
-abstracted idleness in his private compartment of
-the office of Letterblair, Lamson and Low, attorneys at
-law, was summoned by the head of the firm.
-
-Old Mr. Letterblair, the accredited legal adviser of
-three generations of New York gentility, throned behind
-his mahogany desk in evident perplexity.  As he
-stroked his closeclipped white whiskers and ran his
-hand through the rumpled grey locks above his jutting
-brows, his disrespectful junior partner thought how
-much he looked like the Family Physician annoyed
-with a patient whose symptoms refuse to be classified.
-
-"My dear sir--" he always addressed Archer as
-"sir"--"I have sent for you to go into a little matter; a
-matter which, for the moment, I prefer not to mention
-either to Mr. Skipworth or Mr. Redwood."  The gentlemen
-he spoke of were the other senior partners of the
-firm; for, as was always the case with legal associations
-of old standing in New York, all the partners named
-on the office letter-head were long since dead; and Mr.
-Letterblair, for example, was, professionally speaking,
-his own grandson.
-
-He leaned back in his chair with a furrowed brow.
-"For family reasons--" he continued.
-
-Archer looked up.
-
-"The Mingott family," said Mr. Letterblair with an
-explanatory smile and bow.  "Mrs. Manson Mingott
-sent for me yesterday.  Her grand-daughter the Countess
-Olenska wishes to sue her husband for divorce.
-Certain papers have been placed in my hands."  He
-paused and drummed on his desk.  "In view of your
-prospective alliance with the family I should like to
-consult you--to consider the case with you--before
-taking any farther steps."
-
-Archer felt the blood in his temples.  He had seen the
-Countess Olenska only once since his visit to her, and
-then at the Opera, in the Mingott box.  During this
-interval she had become a less vivid and importunate
-image, receding from his foreground as May Welland
-resumed her rightful place in it.  He had not heard her
-divorce spoken of since Janey's first random allusion to
-it, and had dismissed the tale as unfounded gossip.
-Theoretically, the idea of divorce was almost as
-distasteful to him as to his mother; and he was annoyed
-that Mr. Letterblair (no doubt prompted by old Catherine
-Mingott) should be so evidently planning to draw
-him into the affair.  After all, there were plenty of
-Mingott men for such jobs, and as yet he was not even
-a Mingott by marriage.
-
-He waited for the senior partner to continue.  Mr.
-Letterblair unlocked a drawer and drew out a packet.
-"If you will run your eye over these papers--"
-
-Archer frowned.  "I beg your pardon, sir; but just
-because of the prospective relationship, I should prefer
-your consulting Mr. Skipworth or Mr. Redwood."
-
-Mr. Letterblair looked surprised and slightly offended.
-It was unusual for a junior to reject such an opening.
-
-He bowed.  "I respect your scruple, sir; but in this
-case I believe true delicacy requires you to do as I ask.
-Indeed, the suggestion is not mine but Mrs. Manson
-Mingott's and her son's.  I have seen Lovell Mingott;
-and also Mr. Welland.  They all named you."
-
-Archer felt his temper rising.  He had been somewhat
-languidly drifting with events for the last fortnight, and
-letting May's fair looks and radiant nature obliterate
-the rather importunate pressure of the Mingott claims.
-But this behest of old Mrs. Mingott's roused him to a
-sense of what the clan thought they had the right to
-exact from a prospective son-in-law; and he chafed at
-the role.
-
-"Her uncles ought to deal with this," he said.
-
-"They have.  The matter has been gone into by the
-family.  They are opposed to the Countess's idea; but
-she is firm, and insists on a legal opinion."
-
-The young man was silent: he had not opened the
-packet in his hand.
-
-"Does she want to marry again?"
-
-"I believe it is suggested; but she denies it."
-
-"Then--"
-
-"Will you oblige me, Mr. Archer, by first looking
-through these papers?  Afterward, when we have talked
-the case over, I will give you my opinion."
-
-Archer withdrew reluctantly with the unwelcome
-documents.  Since their last meeting he had half-unconsciously
-collaborated with events in ridding himself of the burden
-of Madame Olenska.  His hour alone with her by
-the firelight had drawn them into a momentary intimacy
-on which the Duke of St. Austrey's intrusion with
-Mrs. Lemuel Struthers, and the Countess's joyous greeting
-of them, had rather providentially broken.  Two
-days later Archer had assisted at the comedy of her
-reinstatement in the van der Luydens' favour, and had
-said to himself, with a touch of tartness, that a lady
-who knew how to thank all-powerful elderly gentlemen
-to such good purpose for a bunch of flowers did not
-need either the private consolations or the public
-championship of a young man of his small compass.  To look
-at the matter in this light simplified his own case and
-surprisingly furbished up all the dim domestic virtues.
-He could not picture May Welland, in whatever
-conceivable emergency, hawking about her private difficulties
-and lavishing her confidences on strange men; and
-she had never seemed to him finer or fairer than in the
-week that followed.  He had even yielded to her wish
-for a long engagement, since she had found the one
-disarming answer to his plea for haste.
-
-"You know, when it comes to the point, your parents
-have always let you have your way ever since you
-were a little girl," he argued; and she had answered,
-with her clearest look:  "Yes; and that's what makes it
-so hard to refuse the very last thing they'll ever ask of
-me as a little girl."
-
-That was the old New York note; that was the kind
-of answer he would like always to be sure of his wife's
-making.  If one had habitually breathed the New York
-air there were times when anything less crystalline seemed
-stifling.
-
-
-The papers he had retired to read did not tell him much
-in fact; but they plunged him into an atmosphere in
-which he choked and spluttered.  They consisted mainly
-of an exchange of letters between Count Olenski's
-solicitors and a French legal firm to whom the Countess
-had applied for the settlement of her financial
-situation.  There was also a short letter from the Count to
-his wife: after reading it, Newland Archer rose, jammed
-the papers back into their envelope, and reentered Mr.
-Letterblair's office.
-
-"Here are the letters, sir.  If you wish, I'll see
-Madame Olenska," he said in a constrained voice.
-
-"Thank you--thank you, Mr. Archer.  Come and
-dine with me tonight if you're free, and we'll go into
-the matter afterward: in case you wish to call on our
-client tomorrow."
-
-Newland Archer walked straight home again that
-afternoon.  It was a winter evening of transparent clearness,
-with an innocent young moon above the house-
-tops; and he wanted to fill his soul's lungs with the
-pure radiance, and not exchange a word with any one
-till he and Mr. Letterblair were closeted together after
-dinner.  It was impossible to decide otherwise than he
-had done: he must see Madame Olenska himself rather
-than let her secrets be bared to other eyes.  A great
-wave of compassion had swept away his indifference
-and impatience: she stood before him as an exposed
-and pitiful figure, to be saved at all costs from farther
-wounding herself in her mad plunges against fate.
-
-He remembered what she had told him of Mrs.
-Welland's request to be spared whatever was "unpleasant"
-in her history, and winced at the thought that it was
-perhaps this attitude of mind which kept the New York
-air so pure.  "Are we only Pharisees after all?" he
-wondered, puzzled by the effort to reconcile his instinctive
-disgust at human vileness with his equally instinctive
-pity for human frailty.
-
-For the first time he perceived how elementary his
-own principles had always been.  He passed for a young
-man who had not been afraid of risks, and he knew
-that his secret love-affair with poor silly Mrs. Thorley
-Rushworth had not been too secret to invest him with
-a becoming air of adventure.  But Mrs. Rushworth was
-"that kind of woman"; foolish, vain, clandestine by
-nature, and far more attracted by the secrecy and peril
-of the affair than by such charms and qualities as he
-possessed.  When the fact dawned on him it nearly
-broke his heart, but now it seemed the redeeming feature
-of the case.  The affair, in short, had been of the
-kind that most of the young men of his age had been
-through, and emerged from with calm consciences and
-an undisturbed belief in the abysmal distinction between
-the women one loved and respected and those
-one enjoyed--and pitied.  In this view they were
-sedulously abetted by their mothers, aunts and other elderly
-female relatives, who all shared Mrs. Archer's belief
-that when "such things happened" it was undoubtedly
-foolish of the man, but somehow always criminal of
-the woman.  All the elderly ladies whom Archer knew
-regarded any woman who loved imprudently as necessarily
-unscrupulous and designing, and mere simple-
-minded man as powerless in her clutches.  The only
-thing to do was to persuade him, as early as possible, to
-marry a nice girl, and then trust to her to look after him.
-
-In the complicated old European communities, Archer
-began to guess, love-problems might be less simple and
-less easily classified.  Rich and idle and ornamental
-societies must produce many more such situations; and
-there might even be one in which a woman naturally
-sensitive and aloof would yet, from the force of
-circumstances, from sheer defencelessness and loneliness, be
-drawn into a tie inexcusable by conventional standards.
-
-On reaching home he wrote a line to the Countess
-Olenska, asking at what hour of the next day she could
-receive him, and despatched it by a messenger-boy,
-who returned presently with a word to the effect that
-she was going to Skuytercliff the next morning to stay
-over Sunday with the van der Luydens, but that he
-would find her alone that evening after dinner.  The
-note was written on a rather untidy half-sheet, without
-date or address, but her hand was firm and free.  He
-was amused at the idea of her week-ending in the
-stately solitude of Skuytercliff, but immediately afterward
-felt that there, of all places, she would most feel
-the chill of minds rigorously averted from the "unpleasant."
-
-
-He was at Mr. Letterblair's punctually at seven, glad
-of the pretext for excusing himself soon after dinner.
-He had formed his own opinion from the papers entrusted
-to him, and did not especially want to go into
-the matter with his senior partner.  Mr. Letterblair was
-a widower, and they dined alone, copiously and slowly,
-in a dark shabby room hung with yellowing prints of
-"The Death of Chatham" and "The Coronation of
-Napoleon."  On the sideboard, between fluted Sheraton
-knife-cases, stood a decanter of Haut Brion, and another
-of the old Lanning port (the gift of a client),
-which the wastrel Tom Lanning had sold off a year or
-two before his mysterious and discreditable death in
-San Francisco--an incident less publicly humiliating to
-the family than the sale of the cellar.
-
-After a velvety oyster soup came shad and cucumbers,
-then a young broiled turkey with corn fritters,
-followed by a canvas-back with currant jelly and a
-celery mayonnaise.  Mr. Letterblair, who lunched on a
-sandwich and tea, dined deliberately and deeply, and
-insisted on his guest's doing the same.  Finally, when
-the closing rites had been accomplished, the cloth was
-removed, cigars were lit, and Mr. Letterblair, leaning
-back in his chair and pushing the port westward, said,
-spreading his back agreeably to the coal fire behind
-him:  "The whole family are against a divorce.  And I
-think rightly."
-
-Archer instantly felt himself on the other side of the
-argument.  "But why, sir?  If there ever was a case--"
-
-"Well--what's the use?  SHE'S here--he's there; the
-Atlantic's between them.  She'll never get back a dollar
-more of her money than what he's voluntarily returned
-to her: their damned heathen marriage settlements take
-precious good care of that.  As things go over there,
-Olenski's acted generously: he might have turned her
-out without a penny."
-
-The young man knew this and was silent.
-
-"I understand, though," Mr. Letterblair continued,
-"that she attaches no importance to the money.  Therefore,
-as the family say, why not let well enough alone?"
-
-Archer had gone to the house an hour earlier in full
-agreement with Mr. Letterblair's view; but put into
-words by this selfish, well-fed and supremely indifferent
-old man it suddenly became the Pharisaic voice of a
-society wholly absorbed in barricading itself against the
-unpleasant.
-
-"I think that's for her to decide."
-
-"H'm--have you considered the consequences if she
-decides for divorce?"
-
-"You mean the threat in her husband's letter?  What
-weight would that carry?  It's no more than the vague
-charge of an angry blackguard."
-
-"Yes; but it might make some unpleasant talk if he
-really defends the suit."
-
-"Unpleasant--!" said Archer explosively.
-
-Mr. Letterblair looked at him from under enquiring
-eyebrows, and the young man, aware of the uselessness
-of trying to explain what was in his mind, bowed
-acquiescently while his senior continued:  "Divorce is
-always unpleasant."
-
-"You agree with me?" Mr. Letterblair resumed, after
-a waiting silence.
-
-"Naturally," said Archer.
-
-"Well, then, I may count on you; the Mingotts may
-count on you; to use your influence against the idea?"
-
-Archer hesitated.  "I can't pledge myself till I've seen
-the Countess Olenska," he said at length.
-
-"Mr. Archer, I don't understand you.  Do you want
-to marry into a family with a scandalous divorce-suit
-hanging over it?"
-
-"I don't think that has anything to do with the
-case."
-
-Mr. Letterblair put down his glass of port and fixed
-on his young partner a cautious and apprehensive gaze.
-
-Archer understood that he ran the risk of having his
-mandate withdrawn, and for some obscure reason he
-disliked the prospect.  Now that the job had been thrust
-on him he did not propose to relinquish it; and, to
-guard against the possibility, he saw that he must reassure
-the unimaginative old man who was the legal
-conscience of the Mingotts.
-
-"You may be sure, sir, that I shan't commit myself
-till I've reported to you; what I meant was that I'd
-rather not give an opinion till I've heard what Madame
-Olenska has to say."
-
-Mr. Letterblair nodded approvingly at an excess of
-caution worthy of the best New York tradition, and
-the young man, glancing at his watch, pleaded an
-engagement and took leave.
-
-
-
-XII.
-
-Old-fashioned New York dined at seven, and the
-habit of after-dinner calls, though derided in Archer's
-set, still generally prevailed.  As the young man
-strolled up Fifth Avenue from Waverley Place, the long
-thoroughfare was deserted but for a group of carriages
-standing before the Reggie Chiverses' (where there was
-a dinner for the Duke), and the occasional figure of an
-elderly gentleman in heavy overcoat and muffler
-ascending a brownstone doorstep and disappearing into a
-gas-lit hall.  Thus, as Archer crossed Washington Square,
-he remarked that old Mr. du Lac was calling on his
-cousins the Dagonets, and turning down the corner of
-West Tenth Street he saw Mr. Skipworth, of his own
-firm, obviously bound on a visit to the Miss Lannings.
-A little farther up Fifth Avenue, Beaufort appeared on
-his doorstep, darkly projected against a blaze of light,
-descended to his private brougham, and rolled away to
-a mysterious and probably unmentionable destination.
-It was not an Opera night, and no one was giving a
-party, so that Beaufort's outing was undoubtedly of a
-clandestine nature.  Archer connected it in his mind
-with a little house beyond Lexington Avenue in which
-beribboned window curtains and flower-boxes had
-recently appeared, and before whose newly painted door
-the canary-coloured brougham of Miss Fanny Ring
-was frequently seen to wait.
-
-Beyond the small and slippery pyramid which
-composed Mrs. Archer's world lay the almost unmapped
-quarter inhabited by artists, musicians and "people
-who wrote."  These scattered fragments of humanity
-had never shown any desire to be amalgamated with
-the social structure.  In spite of odd ways they were said
-to be, for the most part, quite respectable; but they
-preferred to keep to themselves.  Medora Manson, in
-her prosperous days, had inaugurated a "literary
-salon"; but it had soon died out owing to the reluctance
-of the literary to frequent it.
-
-Others had made the same attempt, and there was a
-household of Blenkers--an intense and voluble mother,
-and three blowsy daughters who imitated her--where
-one met Edwin Booth and Patti and William Winter,
-and the new Shakespearian actor George Rignold, and
-some of the magazine editors and musical and literary
-critics.
-
-Mrs. Archer and her group felt a certain timidity
-concerning these persons.  They were odd, they were
-uncertain, they had things one didn't know about in
-the background of their lives and minds.  Literature and
-art were deeply respected in the Archer set, and Mrs.
-Archer was always at pains to tell her children how
-much more agreeable and cultivated society had been
-when it included such figures as Washington Irving,
-Fitz-Greene Halleck and the poet of "The Culprit Fay."
-The most celebrated authors of that generation had
-been "gentlemen"; perhaps the unknown persons who
-succeeded them had gentlemanly sentiments, but their
-origin, their appearance, their hair, their intimacy with
-the stage and the Opera, made any old New York
-criterion inapplicable to them.
-
-"When I was a girl," Mrs. Archer used to say, "we
-knew everybody between the Battery and Canal Street;
-and only the people one knew had carriages.  It was
-perfectly easy to place any one then; now one can't tell,
-and I prefer not to try."
-
-Only old Catherine Mingott, with her absence of
-moral prejudices and almost parvenu indifference to
-the subtler distinctions, might have bridged the abyss;
-but she had never opened a book or looked at a
-picture, and cared for music only because it reminded her
-of gala nights at the Italiens, in the days of her triumph
-at the Tuileries.  Possibly Beaufort, who was her match
-in daring, would have succeeded in bringing about a
-fusion; but his grand house and silk-stockinged footmen
-were an obstacle to informal sociability.  Moreover,
-he was as illiterate as old Mrs. Mingott, and
-considered "fellows who wrote" as the mere paid
-purveyors of rich men's pleasures; and no one rich enough
-to influence his opinion had ever questioned it.
-
-Newland Archer had been aware of these things ever
-since he could remember, and had accepted them as
-part of the structure of his universe.  He knew that
-there were societies where painters and poets and
-novelists and men of science, and even great actors, were
-as sought after as Dukes; he had often pictured to
-himself what it would have been to live in the intimacy
-of drawing-rooms dominated by the talk of Merimee
-(whose "Lettres a une Inconnue" was one of his
-inseparables), of Thackeray, Browning or William Morris.
-But such things were inconceivable in New York, and
-unsettling to think of.  Archer knew most of the
-"fellows who wrote," the musicians and the painters: he
-met them at the Century, or at the little musical and
-theatrical clubs that were beginning to come into
-existence.  He enjoyed them there, and was bored with
-them at the Blenkers', where they were mingled with
-fervid and dowdy women who passed them about like
-captured curiosities; and even after his most exciting
-talks with Ned Winsett he always came away with the
-feeling that if his world was small, so was theirs, and
-that the only way to enlarge either was to reach a stage
-of manners where they would naturally merge.
-
-He was reminded of this by trying to picture the
-society in which the Countess Olenska had lived and
-suffered, and also--perhaps--tasted mysterious joys.
-He remembered with what amusement she had told
-him that her grandmother Mingott and the Wellands
-objected to her living in a "Bohemian" quarter given
-over to "people who wrote."  It was not the peril but
-the poverty that her family disliked; but that shade
-escaped her, and she supposed they considered
-literature compromising.
-
-She herself had no fears of it, and the books
-scattered about her drawing-room (a part of the house in
-which books were usually supposed to be "out of place"),
-though chiefly works of fiction, had whetted Archer's
-interest with such new names as those of Paul Bourget,
-Huysmans, and the Goncourt brothers.  Ruminating on
-these things as he approached her door, he was once
-more conscious of the curious way in which she
-reversed his values, and of the need of thinking himself
-into conditions incredibly different from any that he
-knew if he were to be of use in her present difficulty.
-
-
-Nastasia opened the door, smiling mysteriously.  On
-the bench in the hall lay a sable-lined overcoat, a
-folded opera hat of dull silk with a gold J. B. on the
-lining, and a white silk muffler: there was no mistaking
-the fact that these costly articles were the property of
-Julius Beaufort.
-
-Archer was angry: so angry that he came near scribbling
-a word on his card and going away; then he
-remembered that in writing to Madame Olenska he
-had been kept by excess of discretion from saying that
-he wished to see her privately.  He had therefore no one
-but himself to blame if she had opened her doors to
-other visitors; and he entered the drawing-room with
-the dogged determination to make Beaufort feel himself
-in the way, and to outstay him.
-
-The banker stood leaning against the mantelshelf,
-which was draped with an old embroidery held in place
-by brass candelabra containing church candies of
-yellowish wax.  He had thrust his chest out, supporting his
-shoulders against the mantel and resting his weight on
-one large patent-leather foot.  As Archer entered he was
-smiling and looking down on his hostess, who sat on a
-sofa placed at right angles to the chimney.  A table
-banked with flowers formed a screen behind it, and
-against the orchids and azaleas which the young man
-recognised as tributes from the Beaufort hot-houses,
-Madame Olenska sat half-reclined, her head propped
-on a hand and her wide sleeve leaving the arm bare to
-the elbow.
-
-It was usual for ladies who received in the evenings
-to wear what were called "simple dinner dresses": a
-close-fitting armour of whale-boned silk, slightly open
-in the neck, with lace ruffles filling in the crack, and
-tight sleeves with a flounce uncovering just enough
-wrist to show an Etruscan gold bracelet or a velvet
-band.  But Madame Olenska, heedless of tradition, was
-attired in a long robe of red velvet bordered about the
-chin and down the front with glossy black fur.  Archer
-remembered, on his last visit to Paris, seeing a portrait
-by the new painter, Carolus Duran, whose pictures
-were the sensation of the Salon, in which the lady wore
-one of these bold sheath-like robes with her chin nestling
-in fur.  There was something perverse and provocative
-in the notion of fur worn in the evening in a heated
-drawing-room, and in the combination of a muffled
-throat and bare arms; but the effect was undeniably
-pleasing.
-
-"Lord love us--three whole days at Skuytercliff!"
-Beaufort was saying in his loud sneering voice as Archer
-entered.  "You'd better take all your furs, and a
-hot-water-bottle."
-
-"Why?  Is the house so cold?" she asked, holding out
-her left hand to Archer in a way mysteriously suggesting
-that she expected him to kiss it.
-
-"No; but the missus is," said Beaufort, nodding
-carelessly to the young man.
-
-"But I thought her so kind.  She came herself to invite
-me. Granny says I must certainly go."
-
-"Granny would, of course.  And I say it's a shame
-you're going to miss the little oyster supper I'd planned
-for you at Delmonico's next Sunday, with Campanini
-and Scalchi and a lot of jolly people."
-
-She looked doubtfully from the banker to Archer.
-
-"Ah--that does tempt me!  Except the other evening
-at Mrs. Struthers's I've not met a single artist since I've
-been here."
-
-"What kind of artists?  I know one or two painters,
-very good fellows, that I could bring to see you if you'd
-allow me," said Archer boldly.
-
-"Painters?  Are there painters in New York?" asked
-Beaufort, in a tone implying that there could be none
-since he did not buy their pictures; and Madame Olenska
-said to Archer, with her grave smile:  "That would be
-charming.  But I was really thinking of dramatic artists,
-singers, actors, musicians.  My husband's house was
-always full of them."
-
-She said the words "my husband" as if no sinister
-associations were connected with them, and in a tone
-that seemed almost to sigh over the lost delights of her
-married life.  Archer looked at her perplexedly, wondering
-if it were lightness or dissimulation that enabled her
-to touch so easily on the past at the very moment when
-she was risking her reputation in order to break with it.
-
-"I do think," she went on, addressing both men,
-"that the imprevu adds to one's enjoyment.  It's perhaps
-a mistake to see the same people every day."
-
-"It's confoundedly dull, anyhow; New York is dying
-of dullness," Beaufort grumbled.  "And when I try to
-liven it up for you, you go back on me.  Come--think
-better of it!  Sunday is your last chance, for Campanini
-leaves next week for Baltimore and Philadelphia; and
-I've a private room, and a Steinway, and they'll sing all
-night for me."
-
-"How delicious!  May I think it over, and write to
-you tomorrow morning?"
-
-She spoke amiably, yet with the least hint of
-dismissal in her voice.  Beaufort evidently felt it, and being
-unused to dismissals, stood staring at her with an obstinate
-line between his eyes.
-
-"Why not now?"
-
-"It's too serious a question to decide at this late
-hour."
-
-"Do you call it late?"
-
-She returned his glance coolly.  "Yes; because I have
-still to talk business with Mr. Archer for a little while."
-
-"Ah," Beaufort snapped.  There was no appeal from
-her tone, and with a slight shrug he recovered his
-composure, took her hand, which he kissed with a
-practised air, and calling out from the threshold:  "I
-say, Newland, if you can persuade the Countess to stop
-in town of course you're included in the supper," left
-the room with his heavy important step.
-
-For a moment Archer fancied that Mr. Letterblair
-must have told her of his coming; but the irrelevance of
-her next remark made him change his mind.
-
-"You know painters, then?  You live in their milieu?"
-she asked, her eyes full of interest.
-
-"Oh, not exactly.  I don't know that the arts have a
-milieu here, any of them; they're more like a very
-thinly settled outskirt."
-
-"But you care for such things?"
-
-"Immensely.  When I'm in Paris or London I never
-miss an exhibition.  I try to keep up."
-
-She looked down at the tip of the little satin boot
-that peeped from her long draperies.
-
-"I used to care immensely too: my life was full of
-such things.  But now I want to try not to."
-
-"You want to try not to?"
-
-"Yes: I want to cast off all my old life, to become
-just like everybody else here."
-
-Archer reddened.  "You'll never be like everybody
-else," he said.
-
-She raised her straight eyebrows a little.  "Ah, don't
-say that.  If you knew how I hate to be different!"
-
-Her face had grown as sombre as a tragic mask.  She
-leaned forward, clasping her knee in her thin hands,
-and looking away from him into remote dark distances.
-
-"I want to get away from it all," she insisted.
-
-He waited a moment and cleared his throat.  "I know.
-Mr. Letterblair has told me."
-
-"Ah?"
-
-"That's the reason I've come.  He asked me to--you
-see I'm in the firm."
-
-She looked slightly surprised, and then her eyes brightened.
-"You mean you can manage it for me?  I can talk
-to you instead of Mr. Letterblair?  Oh, that will be so
-much easier!"
-
-Her tone touched him, and his confidence grew with
-his self-satisfaction.  He perceived that she had spoken
-of business to Beaufort simply to get rid of him; and to
-have routed Beaufort was something of a triumph.
-
-"I am here to talk about it," he repeated.
-
-She sat silent, her head still propped by the arm that
-rested on the back of the sofa.  Her face looked pale
-and extinguished, as if dimmed by the rich red of her
-dress.  She struck Archer, of a sudden, as a pathetic and
-even pitiful figure.
-
-"Now we're coming to hard facts," he thought,
-conscious in himself of the same instinctive recoil that he
-had so often criticised in his mother and her contemporaries.
-How little practice he had had in dealing with
-unusual situations!  Their very vocabulary was unfamiliar
-to him, and seemed to belong to fiction and the
-stage.  In face of what was coming he felt as awkward
-and embarrassed as a boy.
-
-After a pause Madame Olenska broke out with
-unexpected vehemence:  "I want to be free; I want to wipe
-out all the past."
-
-"I understand that."
-
-Her face warmed.  "Then you'll help me?"
-
-"First--" he hesitated--"perhaps I ought to know a
-little more."
-
-She seemed surprised.  "You know about my husband--
-my life with him?"
-
-He made a sign of assent.
-
-"Well--then--what more is there?  In this country
-are such things tolerated?  I'm a Protestant--our church
-does not forbid divorce in such cases."
-
-"Certainly not."
-
-They were both silent again, and Archer felt the
-spectre of Count Olenski's letter grimacing hideously
-between them.  The letter filled only half a page, and
-was just what he had described it to be in speaking of it
-to Mr. Letterblair: the vague charge of an angry
-blackguard.  But how much truth was behind it?  Only Count
-Olenski's wife could tell.
-
-"I've looked through the papers you gave to Mr.
-Letterblair," he said at length.
-
-"Well--can there be anything more abominable?"
-
-"No."
-
-She changed her position slightly, screening her eyes
-with her lifted hand.
-
-"Of course you know," Archer continued, "that if
-your husband chooses to fight the case--as he threatens to--"
-
-"Yes--?"
-
-"He can say things--things that might be unpl--might
-be disagreeable to you: say them publicly, so that they
-would get about, and harm you even if--"
-
-"If--?"
-
-"I mean: no matter how unfounded they were."
-
-She paused for a long interval; so long that, not
-wishing to keep his eyes on her shaded face, he had
-time to imprint on his mind the exact shape of her
-other hand, the one on her knee, and every detail of the
-three rings on her fourth and fifth fingers; among which,
-he noticed, a wedding ring did not appear.
-
-"What harm could such accusations, even if he made
-them publicly, do me here?"
-
-It was on his lips to exclaim:  "My poor child--far
-more harm than anywhere else!"  Instead, he answered,
-in a voice that sounded in his ears like Mr. Letterblair's:
-"New York society is a very small world compared
-with the one you've lived in.  And it's ruled, in spite of
-appearances, by a few people with--well, rather old-
-fashioned ideas."
-
-She said nothing, and he continued:  "Our ideas about
-marriage and divorce are particularly old-fashioned.
-Our legislation favours divorce--our social customs
-don't."
-
-"Never?"
-
-"Well--not if the woman, however injured, however
-irreproachable, has appearances in the least degree
-against her, has exposed herself by any unconventional
-action to--to offensive insinuations--"
-
-She drooped her head a little lower, and he waited
-again, intensely hoping for a flash of indignation, or at
-least a brief cry of denial.  None came.
-
-A little travelling clock ticked purringly at her elbow,
-and a log broke in two and sent up a shower of sparks.
-The whole hushed and brooding room seemed to be
-waiting silently with Archer.
-
-"Yes," she murmured at length, "that's what my
-family tell me."
-
-He winced a little.  "It's not unnatural--"
-
-"OUR family," she corrected herself; and Archer
-coloured.  "For you'll be my cousin soon," she continued
-gently.
-
-"I hope so."
-
-"And you take their view?"
-
-He stood up at this, wandered across the room,
-stared with void eyes at one of the pictures against the
-old red damask, and came back irresolutely to her side.
-How could he say:  "Yes, if what your husband hints is
-true, or if you've no way of disproving it?"
-
-"Sincerely--" she interjected, as he was about to
-speak.
-
-He looked down into the fire.  "Sincerely, then--what
-should you gain that would compensate for the possibility--
-the certainty--of a lot of beastly talk?"
-
-"But my freedom--is that nothing?"
-
-It flashed across him at that instant that the charge
-in the letter was true, and that she hoped to marry the
-partner of her guilt.  How was he to tell her that, if she
-really cherished such a plan, the laws of the State were
-inexorably opposed to it?  The mere suspicion that the
-thought was in her mind made him feel harshly and
-impatiently toward her.  "But aren't you as free as air
-as it is?" he returned.  "Who can touch you?  Mr.
-Letterblair tells me the financial question has been
-settled--"
-
-"Oh, yes," she said indifferently.
-
-"Well, then: is it worth while to risk what may be
-infinitely disagreeable and painful?  Think of the
-newspapers--their vileness!  It's all stupid and narrow and
-unjust--but one can't make over society."
-
-"No," she acquiesced; and her tone was so faint and
-desolate that he felt a sudden remorse for his own hard
-thoughts.
-
-"The individual, in such cases, is nearly always
-sacrificed to what is supposed to be the collective interest:
-people cling to any convention that keeps the family
-together--protects the children, if there are any," he
-rambled on, pouring out all the stock phrases that rose
-to his lips in his intense desire to cover over the ugly
-reality which her silence seemed to have laid bare.
-Since she would not or could not say the one word that
-would have cleared the air, his wish was not to let her
-feel that he was trying to probe into her secret.  Better
-keep on the surface, in the prudent old New York way,
-than risk uncovering a wound he could not heal.
-
-"It's my business, you know," he went on, "to help
-you to see these things as the people who are fondest of
-you see them.  The Mingotts, the Wellands, the van der
-Luydens, all your friends and relations: if I didn't show
-you honestly how they judge such questions, it wouldn't
-be fair of me, would it?"  He spoke insistently, almost
-pleading with her in his eagerness to cover up that
-yawning silence.
-
-She said slowly:  "No; it wouldn't be fair."
-
-The fire had crumbled down to greyness, and one of
-the lamps made a gurgling appeal for attention.  Madame
-Olenska rose, wound it up and returned to the
-fire, but without resuming her seat.
-
-Her remaining on her feet seemed to signify that
-there was nothing more for either of them to say, and
-Archer stood up also.
-
-"Very well; I will do what you wish," she said
-abruptly.  The blood rushed to his forehead; and, taken
-aback by the suddenness of her surrender, he caught
-her two hands awkwardly in his.
-
-"I--I do want to help you," he said.
-
-"You do help me.  Good night, my cousin."
-
-He bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were
-cold and lifeless.  She drew them away, and he turned
-to the door, found his coat and hat under the faint
-gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winter
-night bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.
-
-
-
-
-XIII.
-
-It was a crowded night at Wallack's theatre.
-
-The play was "The Shaughraun," with Dion
-Boucicault in the title role and Harry Montague and
-Ada Dyas as the lovers.  The popularity of the admirable
-English company was at its height, and the Shaughraun
-always packed the house.  In the galleries the enthusiasm
-was unreserved; in the stalls and boxes, people
-smiled a little at the hackneyed sentiments and clap-
-trap situations, and enjoyed the play as much as the
-galleries did.
-
-There was one episode, in particular, that held the
-house from floor to ceiling.  It was that in which Harry
-Montague, after a sad, almost monosyllabic scene of
-parting with Miss Dyas, bade her good-bye, and turned
-to go.  The actress, who was standing near the mantelpiece
-and looking down into the fire, wore a gray
-cashmere dress without fashionable loopings or trimmings,
-moulded to her tall figure and flowing in long
-lines about her feet.  Around her neck was a narrow
-black velvet ribbon with the ends falling down her
-back.
-
-When her wooer turned from her she rested her arms
-against the mantel-shelf and bowed her face in her
-hands.  On the threshold he paused to look at her; then
-he stole back, lifted one of the ends of velvet ribbon,
-kissed it, and left the room without her hearing him or
-changing her attitude.  And on this silent parting the
-curtain fell.
-
-It was always for the sake of that particular scene
-that Newland Archer went to see "The Shaughraun."
-He thought the adieux of Montague and Ada Dyas as
-fine as anything he had ever seen Croisette and Bressant
-do in Paris, or Madge Robertson and Kendal in London;
-in its reticence, its dumb sorrow, it moved him
-more than the most famous histrionic outpourings.
-
-On the evening in question the little scene acquired
-an added poignancy by reminding him--he could not
-have said why--of his leave-taking from Madame
-Olenska after their confidential talk a week or ten days
-earlier.
-
-It would have been as difficult to discover any
-resemblance between the two situations as between the
-appearance of the persons concerned.  Newland Archer
-could not pretend to anything approaching the young
-English actor's romantic good looks, and Miss Dyas
-was a tall red-haired woman of monumental build
-whose pale and pleasantly ugly face was utterly unlike
-Ellen Olenska's vivid countenance.  Nor were Archer
-and Madame Olenska two lovers parting in heart-broken
-silence; they were client and lawyer separating
-after a talk which had given the lawyer the worst
-possible impression of the client's case.  Wherein, then,
-lay the resemblance that made the young man's heart
-beat with a kind of retrospective excitement?  It seemed
-to be in Madame Olenska's mysterious faculty of
-suggesting tragic and moving possibilities outside the daily
-run of experience.  She had hardly ever said a word to
-him to produce this impression, but it was a part of
-her, either a projection of her mysterious and outlandish
-background or of something inherently dramatic,
-passionate and unusual in herself.  Archer had always
-been inclined to think that chance and circumstance
-played a small part in shaping people's lots compared
-with their innate tendency to have things happen to
-them.  This tendency he had felt from the first in
-Madame Olenska.  The quiet, almost passive young woman
-struck him as exactly the kind of person to whom
-things were bound to happen, no matter how much she
-shrank from them and went out of her way to avoid
-them.  The exciting fact was her having lived in an
-atmosphere so thick with drama that her own tendency
-to provoke it had apparently passed unperceived.  It
-was precisely the odd absence of surprise in her that
-gave him the sense of her having been plucked out of a
-very maelstrom: the things she took for granted gave
-the measure of those she had rebelled against.
-
-Archer had left her with the conviction that Count
-Olenski's accusation was not unfounded.  The mysterious
-person who figured in his wife's past as "the secretary"
-had probably not been unrewarded for his share
-in her escape.  The conditions from which she had fled
-were intolerable, past speaking of, past believing: she
-was young, she was frightened, she was desperate--
-what more natural than that she should be grateful to
-her rescuer?  The pity was that her gratitude put her, in
-the law's eyes and the world's, on a par with her
-abominable husband.  Archer had made her understand
-this, as he was bound to do; he had also made her
-understand that simplehearted kindly New York, on
-whose larger charity she had apparently counted, was
-precisely the place where she could least hope for
-indulgence.
-
-To have to make this fact plain to her--and to
-witness her resigned acceptance of it--had been intolerably
-painful to him.  He felt himself drawn to her by
-obscure feelings of jealousy and pity, as if her dumbly-
-confessed error had put her at his mercy, humbling yet
-endearing her.  He was glad it was to him she had
-revealed her secret, rather than to the cold scrutiny of
-Mr. Letterblair, or the embarrassed gaze of her family.
-He immediately took it upon himself to assure them
-both that she had given up her idea of seeking a
-divorce, basing her decision on the fact that she had
-understood the uselessness of the proceeding; and with
-infinite relief they had all turned their eyes from the
-"unpleasantness" she had spared them.
-
-"I was sure Newland would manage it," Mrs. Welland
-had said proudly of her future son-in-law; and old
-Mrs. Mingott, who had summoned him for a confidential
-interview, had congratulated him on his cleverness,
-and added impatiently:  "Silly goose!  I told her myself
-what nonsense it was.  Wanting to pass herself off as
-Ellen Mingott and an old maid, when she has the luck
-to be a married woman and a Countess!"
-
-These incidents had made the memory of his last talk
-with Madame Olenska so vivid to the young man that
-as the curtain fell on the parting of the two actors his
-eyes filled with tears, and he stood up to leave the
-theatre.
-
-In doing so, he turned to the side of the house behind
-him, and saw the lady of whom he was thinking seated
-in a box with the Beauforts, Lawrence Lefferts and one
-or two other men.  He had not spoken with her alone
-since their evening together, and had tried to avoid
-being with her in company; but now their eyes met,
-and as Mrs. Beaufort recognised him at the same time,
-and made her languid little gesture of invitation, it was
-impossible not to go into the box.
-
-Beaufort and Lefferts made way for him, and after a
-few words with Mrs. Beaufort, who always preferred
-to look beautiful and not have to talk, Archer seated
-himself behind Madame Olenska.  There was no one
-else in the box but Mr. Sillerton Jackson, who was
-telling Mrs. Beaufort in a confidential undertone about
-Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's last Sunday reception (where
-some people reported that there had been dancing).
-Under cover of this circumstantial narrative, to which
-Mrs. Beaufort listened with her perfect smile, and her
-head at just the right angle to be seen in profile from
-the stalls, Madame Olenska turned and spoke in a low
-voice.
-
-"Do you think," she asked, glancing toward the
-stage, "he will send her a bunch of yellow roses tomorrow
-morning?"
-
-Archer reddened, and his heart gave a leap of
-surprise.  He had called only twice on Madame Olenska,
-and each time he had sent her a box of yellow roses,
-and each time without a card.  She had never before
-made any allusion to the flowers, and he supposed she
-had never thought of him as the sender.  Now her
-sudden recognition of the gift, and her associating it
-with the tender leave-taking on the stage, filled him
-with an agitated pleasure.
-
-"I was thinking of that too--I was going to leave the
-theatre in order to take the picture away with me," he
-said.
-
-To his surprise her colour rose, reluctantly and duskily.
-She looked down at the mother-of-pearl opera-glass
-in her smoothly gloved hands, and said, after a pause:
-"What do you do while May is away?"
-
-"I stick to my work," he answered, faintly annoyed
-by the question.
-
-In obedience to a long-established habit, the Wellands
-had left the previous week for St. Augustine,
-where, out of regard for the supposed susceptibility of
-Mr. Welland's bronchial tubes, they always spent the
-latter part of the winter.  Mr. Welland was a mild and
-silent man, with no opinions but with many habits.
-With these habits none might interfere; and one of
-them demanded that his wife and daughter should always
-go with him on his annual journey to the south.
-To preserve an unbroken domesticity was essential to
-his peace of mind; he would not have known where his
-hair-brushes were, or how to provide stamps for his
-letters, if Mrs. Welland had not been there to tell him.
-
-As all the members of the family adored each other,
-and as Mr. Welland was the central object of their
-idolatry, it never occurred to his wife and May to let
-him go to St. Augustine alone; and his sons, who were
-both in the law, and could not leave New York during
-the winter, always joined him for Easter and travelled
-back with him.
-
-It was impossible for Archer to discuss the necessity
-of May's accompanying her father.  The reputation of
-the Mingotts' family physician was largely based on the
-attack of pneumonia which Mr. Welland had never
-had; and his insistence on St. Augustine was therefore
-inflexible.  Originally, it had been intended that May's
-engagement should not be announced till her return
-from Florida, and the fact that it had been made known
-sooner could not be expected to alter Mr. Welland's
-plans.  Archer would have liked to join the travellers
-and have a few weeks of sunshine and boating with his
-betrothed; but he too was bound by custom and
-conventions.  Little arduous as his professional duties were,
-he would have been convicted of frivolity by the whole
-Mingott clan if he had suggested asking for a holiday
-in mid-winter; and he accepted May's departure with
-the resignation which he perceived would have to be
-one of the principal constituents of married life.
-
-He was conscious that Madame Olenska was looking
-at him under lowered lids.  "I have done what you
-wished--what you advised," she said abruptly.
-
-"Ah--I'm glad," he returned, embarrassed by her
-broaching the subject at such a moment.
-
-"I understand--that you were right," she went on a
-little breathlessly; "but sometimes life is difficult . . .
-perplexing. . ."
-
-"I know."
-
-"And I wanted to tell you that I DO feel you were
-right; and that I'm grateful to you," she ended, lifting
-her opera-glass quickly to her eyes as the door of the
-box opened and Beaufort's resonant voice broke in on
-them.
-
-Archer stood up, and left the box and the theatre.
-
-Only the day before he had received a letter from
-May Welland in which, with characteristic candour,
-she had asked him to "be kind to Ellen" in their
-absence.  "She likes you and admires you so much--and
-you know, though she doesn't show it, she's still very
-lonely and unhappy.  I don't think Granny understands
-her, or uncle Lovell Mingott either; they really think
-she's much worldlier and fonder of society than she is.
-And I can quite see that New York must seem dull to
-her, though the family won't admit it.  I think she's
-been used to lots of things we haven't got; wonderful
-music, and picture shows, and celebrities--artists and
-authors and all the clever people you admire.  Granny
-can't understand her wanting anything but lots of dinners
-and clothes--but I can see that you're almost the
-only person in New York who can talk to her about
-what she really cares for."
-
-His wise May--how he had loved her for that letter!
-But he had not meant to act on it; he was too busy, to
-begin with, and he did not care, as an engaged man, to
-play too conspicuously the part of Madame Olenska's
-champion.  He had an idea that she knew how to take
-care of herself a good deal better than the ingenuous
-May imagined.  She had Beaufort at her feet, Mr. van
-der Luyden hovering above her like a protecting deity,
-and any number of candidates (Lawrence Lefferts among
-them) waiting their opportunity in the middle distance.
-Yet he never saw her, or exchanged a word with her,
-without feeling that, after all, May's ingenuousness
-almost amounted to a gift of divination.  Ellen Olenska
-was lonely and she was unhappy.
-
-
-
-XIV.
-
-As he came out into the lobby Archer ran across his
-friend Ned Winsett, the only one among what
-Janey called his "clever people" with whom he cared to
-probe into things a little deeper than the average level
-of club and chop-house banter.
-
-He had caught sight, across the house, of Winsett's
-shabby round-shouldered back, and had once noticed
-his eyes turned toward the Beaufort box.  The two men
-shook hands, and Winsett proposed a bock at a little
-German restaurant around the corner.  Archer, who
-was not in the mood for the kind of talk they were
-likely to get there, declined on the plea that he had
-work to do at home; and Winsett said:  "Oh, well so
-have I for that matter, and I'll be the Industrious
-Apprentice too."
-
-They strolled along together, and presently Winsett
-said:  "Look here, what I'm really after is the name of
-the dark lady in that swell box of yours--with the
-Beauforts, wasn't she?  The one your friend Lefferts
-seems so smitten by."
-
-Archer, he could not have said why, was slightly
-annoyed.  What the devil did Ned Winsett want with
-Ellen Olenska's name?  And above all, why did he couple
-it with Lefferts's?  It was unlike Winsett to manifest
-such curiosity; but after all, Archer remembered, he
-was a journalist.
-
-"It's not for an interview, I hope?" he laughed.
-
-"Well--not for the press; just for myself," Winsett
-rejoined.  "The fact is she's a neighbour of mine--queer
-quarter for such a beauty to settle in--and she's been
-awfully kind to my little boy, who fell down her area
-chasing his kitten, and gave himself a nasty cut.  She
-rushed in bareheaded, carrying him in her arms, with
-his knee all beautifully bandaged, and was so sympathetic
-and beautiful that my wife was too dazzled to
-ask her name."
-
-A pleasant glow dilated Archer's heart.  There was
-nothing extraordinary in the tale: any woman would
-have done as much for a neighbour's child.  But it was
-just like Ellen, he felt, to have rushed in bareheaded,
-carrying the boy in her arms, and to have dazzled poor
-Mrs. Winsett into forgetting to ask who she was.
-
-"That is the Countess Olenska--a granddaughter of
-old Mrs. Mingott's."
-
-"Whew--a Countess!" whistled Ned Winsett.  "Well,
-I didn't know Countesses were so neighbourly.  Mingotts
-ain't."
-
-"They would be, if you'd let them."
-
-"Ah, well--"  It was their old interminable argument
-as to the obstinate unwillingness of the "clever people"
-to frequent the fashionable, and both men knew that
-there was no use in prolonging it.
-
-"I wonder," Winsett broke off, "how a Countess
-happens to live in our slum?"
-
-"Because she doesn't care a hang about where she
-lives--or about any of our little social sign-posts," said
-Archer, with a secret pride in his own picture of her.
-
-"H'm--been in bigger places, I suppose," the other
-commented.  "Well, here's my corner."
-
-He slouched off across Broadway, and Archer stood
-looking after him and musing on his last words.
-
-Ned Winsett had those flashes of penetration; they
-were the most interesting thing about him, and always
-made Archer wonder why they had allowed him to
-accept failure so stolidly at an age when most men are
-still struggling.
-
-Archer had known that Winsett had a wife and
-child, but he had never seen them.  The two men always
-met at the Century, or at some haunt of journalists and
-theatrical people, such as the restaurant where Winsett
-had proposed to go for a bock.  He had given Archer to
-understand that his wife was an invalid; which might
-be true of the poor lady, or might merely mean that she
-was lacking in social gifts or in evening clothes, or in
-both.  Winsett himself had a savage abhorrence of social
-observances: Archer, who dressed in the evening
-because he thought it cleaner and more comfortable to
-do so, and who had never stopped to consider that
-cleanliness and comfort are two of the costliest items in
-a modest budget, regarded Winsett's attitude as part of
-the boring "Bohemian" pose that always made fashionable
-people, who changed their clothes without talking
-about it, and were not forever harping on the number
-of servants one kept, seem so much simpler and less
-self-conscious than the others.  Nevertheless, he was
-always stimulated by Winsett, and whenever he caught
-sight of the journalist's lean bearded face and melancholy
-eyes he would rout him out of his corner and
-carry him off for a long talk.
-
-Winsett was not a journalist by choice.  He was a
-pure man of letters, untimely born in a world that had
-no need of letters; but after publishing one volume of
-brief and exquisite literary appreciations, of which one
-hundred and twenty copies were sold, thirty given away,
-and the balance eventually destroyed by the publishers
-(as per contract) to make room for more marketable
-material, he had abandoned his real calling, and taken
-a sub-editorial job on a women's weekly, where fashion-
-plates and paper patterns alternated with New England
-love-stories and advertisements of temperance drinks.
-
-On the subject of "Hearth-fires" (as the paper was
-called) he was inexhaustibly entertaining; but beneath
-his fun lurked the sterile bitterness of the still young
-man who has tried and given up.  His conversation
-always made Archer take the measure of his own life,
-and feel how little it contained; but Winsett's, after all,
-contained still less, and though their common fund of
-intellectual interests and curiosities made their talks
-exhilarating, their exchange of views usually remained
-within the limits of a pensive dilettantism.
-
-"The fact is, life isn't much a fit for either of us,"
-Winsett had once said.  "I'm down and out; nothing to
-be done about it.  I've got only one ware to produce,
-and there's no market for it here, and won't be in my
-time.  But you're free and you're well-off.  Why don't
-you get into touch?  There's only one way to do it: to
-go into politics."
-
-Archer threw his head back and laughed.  There one
-saw at a flash the unbridgeable difference between men
-like Winsett and the others--Archer's kind.  Every one
-in polite circles knew that, in America, "a gentleman
-couldn't go into politics."  But, since he could hardly
-put it in that way to Winsett, he answered evasively:
-"Look at the career of the honest man in American
-politics!  They don't want us."
-
-"Who's `they'?  Why don't you all get together and
-be `they' yourselves?"
-
-Archer's laugh lingered on his lips in a slightly
-condescending smile.  It was useless to prolong the
-discussion: everybody knew the melancholy fate of the
-few gentlemen who had risked their clean linen in
-municipal or state politics in New York.  The day was
-past when that sort of thing was possible: the country
-was in possession of the bosses and the emigrant, and
-decent people had to fall back on sport or culture.
-
-"Culture!  Yes--if we had it!  But there are just a few
-little local patches, dying out here and there for lack
-of--well, hoeing and cross-fertilising: the last remnants
-of the old European tradition that your forebears brought
-with them.  But you're in a pitiful little minority: you've
-got no centre, no competition, no audience.  You're like
-the pictures on the walls of a deserted house:  `The
-Portrait of a Gentleman.'  You'll never amount to anything,
-any of you, till you roll up your sleeves and get
-right down into the muck.  That, or emigrate . . . God!
-If I could emigrate . . ."
-
-Archer mentally shrugged his shoulders and turned
-the conversation back to books, where Winsett, if
-uncertain, was always interesting.  Emigrate!  As if a
-gentleman could abandon his own country!  One could no
-more do that than one could roll up one's sleeves and
-go down into the muck.  A gentleman simply stayed at
-home and abstained.  But you couldn't make a man like
-Winsett see that; and that was why the New York of
-literary clubs and exotic restaurants, though a first
-shake made it seem more of a kaleidoscope, turned out,
-in the end, to be a smaller box, with a more monotonous
-pattern, than the assembled atoms of Fifth Avenue.
-
-
-The next morning Archer scoured the town in vain for
-more yellow roses.  In consequence of this search he
-arrived late at the office, perceived that his doing so
-made no difference whatever to any one, and was filled
-with sudden exasperation at the elaborate futility of his
-life.  Why should he not be, at that moment, on the
-sands of St. Augustine with May Welland?  No one was
-deceived by his pretense of professional activity.  In
-old-fashioned legal firms like that of which Mr. Letterblair
-was the head, and which were mainly engaged in
-the management of large estates and "conservative"
-investments, there were always two or three young
-men, fairly well-off, and without professional ambition,
-who, for a certain number of hours of each day, sat at
-their desks accomplishing trivial tasks, or simply reading
-the newspapers.  Though it was supposed to be
-proper for them to have an occupation, the crude fact
-of money-making was still regarded as derogatory, and
-the law, being a profession, was accounted a more
-gentlemanly pursuit than business.  But none of these
-young men had much hope of really advancing in his
-profession, or any earnest desire to do so; and over
-many of them the green mould of the perfunctory was
-already perceptibly spreading.
-
-It made Archer shiver to think that it might be spreading
-over him too.  He had, to be sure, other tastes and
-interests; he spent his vacations in European travel,
-cultivated the "clever people" May spoke of, and
-generally tried to "keep up," as he had somewhat wistfully
-put it to Madame Olenska.  But once he was married,
-what would become of this narrow margin of life in
-which his real experiences were lived?  He had seen
-enough of other young men who had dreamed his
-dream, though perhaps less ardently, and who had
-gradually sunk into the placid and luxurious routine of
-their elders.
-
-From the office he sent a note by messenger to Madame
-Olenska, asking if he might call that afternoon,
-and begging her to let him find a reply at his club; but
-at the club he found nothing, nor did he receive any
-letter the following day.  This unexpected silence mortified
-him beyond reason, and though the next morning
-he saw a glorious cluster of yellow roses behind a
-florist's window-pane, he left it there.  It was only on
-the third morning that he received a line by post from
-the Countess Olenska.  To his surprise it was dated
-from Skuytercliff, whither the van der Luydens had
-promptly retreated after putting the Duke on board his
-steamer.
-
-"I ran away," the writer began abruptly (without the
-usual preliminaries), "the day after I saw you at the
-play, and these kind friends have taken me in.  I wanted
-to be quiet, and think things over.  You were right in
-telling me how kind they were; I feel myself so safe
-here.  I wish that you were with us."  She ended with a
-conventional "Yours sincerely," and without any allusion
-to the date of her return.
-
-The tone of the note surprised the young man.  What
-was Madame Olenska running away from, and why
-did she feel the need to be safe?  His first thought was
-of some dark menace from abroad; then he reflected
-that he did not know her epistolary style, and that it
-might run to picturesque exaggeration.  Women always
-exaggerated; and moreover she was not wholly at her
-ease in English, which she often spoke as if she were
-translating from the French.  "Je me suis evadee--" put
-in that way, the opening sentence immediately suggested
-that she might merely have wanted to escape
-from a boring round of engagements; which was very
-likely true, for he judged her to be capricious, and
-easily wearied of the pleasure of the moment.
-
-It amused him to think of the van der Luydens'
-having carried her off to Skuytercliff on a second visit,
-and this time for an indefinite period.  The doors of
-Skuytercliff were rarely and grudgingly opened to visitors,
-and a chilly week-end was the most ever offered
-to the few thus privileged.  But Archer had seen, on his
-last visit to Paris, the delicious play of Labiche, "Le
-Voyage de M. Perrichon," and he remembered M.
-Perrichon's dogged and undiscouraged attachment to
-the young man whom he had pulled out of the glacier.
-The van der Luydens had rescued Madame Olenska
-from a doom almost as icy; and though there were
-many other reasons for being attracted to her, Archer
-knew that beneath them all lay the gentle and obstinate
-determination to go on rescuing her.
-
-He felt a distinct disappointment on learning that she
-was away; and almost immediately remembered that,
-only the day before, he had refused an invitation to
-spend the following Sunday with the Reggie Chiverses
-at their house on the Hudson, a few miles below
-Skuytercliff.
-
-He had had his fill long ago of the noisy friendly
-parties at Highbank, with coasting, ice-boating, sleighing,
-long tramps in the snow, and a general flavour of
-mild flirting and milder practical jokes.  He had just
-received a box of new books from his London book-
-seller, and had preferred the prospect of a quiet Sunday
-at home with his spoils.  But he now went into the club
-writing-room, wrote a hurried telegram, and told the
-servant to send it immediately.  He knew that Mrs.
-Reggie didn't object to her visitors' suddenly changing
-their minds, and that there was always a room to spare
-in her elastic house.
-
-
-
-XV.
-
-Newland Archer arrived at the Chiverses' on Friday
-evening, and on Saturday went conscientiously
-through all the rites appertaining to a week-end at
-Highbank.
-
-In the morning he had a spin in the ice-boat with his
-hostess and a few of the hardier guests; in the afternoon
-he "went over the farm" with Reggie, and listened,
-in the elaborately appointed stables, to long and
-impressive disquisitions on the horse; after tea he talked
-in a corner of the firelit hall with a young lady who
-had professed herself broken-hearted when his engagement
-was announced, but was now eager to tell him of
-her own matrimonial hopes; and finally, about midnight,
-he assisted in putting a gold-fish in one visitor's
-bed, dressed up a burglar in the bath-room of a nervous
-aunt, and saw in the small hours by joining in a
-pillow-fight that ranged from the nurseries to the
-basement.  But on Sunday after luncheon he borrowed a
-cutter, and drove over to Skuytercliff.
-
-People had always been told that the house at
-Skuytercliff was an Italian villa.  Those who had never
-been to Italy believed it; so did some who had.  The
-house had been built by Mr. van der Luyden in his
-youth, on his return from the "grand tour," and in
-anticipation of his approaching marriage with Miss
-Louisa Dagonet.  It was a large square wooden structure,
-with tongued and grooved walls painted pale
-green and white, a Corinthian portico, and fluted
-pilasters between the windows.  From the high ground on
-which it stood a series of terraces bordered by balustrades
-and urns descended in the steel-engraving style
-to a small irregular lake with an asphalt edge overhung
-by rare weeping conifers.  To the right and left, the
-famous weedless lawns studded with "specimen" trees
-(each of a different variety) rolled away to long ranges
-of grass crested with elaborate cast-iron ornaments;
-and below, in a hollow, lay the four-roomed stone
-house which the first Patroon had built on the land
-granted him in 1612.
-
-Against the uniform sheet of snow and the greyish
-winter sky the Italian villa loomed up rather grimly;
-even in summer it kept its distance, and the boldest
-coleus bed had never ventured nearer than thirty feet
-from its awful front.  Now, as Archer rang the bell, the
-long tinkle seemed to echo through a mausoleum; and
-the surprise of the butler who at length responded to
-the call was as great as though he had been summoned
-from his final sleep.
-
-Happily Archer was of the family, and therefore,
-irregular though his arrival was, entitled to be informed
-that the Countess Olenska was out, having driven to
-afternoon service with Mrs. van der Luyden exactly
-three quarters of an hour earlier.
-
-"Mr. van der Luyden," the butler continued, "is
-in, sir; but my impression is that he is either finishing
-his nap or else reading yesterday's Evening Post.  I
-heard him say, sir, on his return from church this
-morning, that he intended to look through the Evening
-Post after luncheon; if you like, sir, I might go to the
-library door and listen--"
-
-But Archer, thanking him, said that he would go and
-meet the ladies; and the butler, obviously relieved, closed
-the door on him majestically.
-
-A groom took the cutter to the stables, and Archer
-struck through the park to the high-road.  The village of
-Skuytercliff was only a mile and a half away, but he
-knew that Mrs. van der Luyden never walked, and that
-he must keep to the road to meet the carriage.  Presently,
-however, coming down a foot-path that crossed
-the highway, he caught sight of a slight figure in a red
-cloak, with a big dog running ahead.  He hurried forward,
-and Madame Olenska stopped short with a smile
-of welcome.
-
-"Ah, you've come!" she said, and drew her hand
-from her muff.
-
-The red cloak made her look gay and vivid, like the
-Ellen Mingott of old days; and he laughed as he took
-her hand, and answered:  "I came to see what you were
-running away from."
-
-Her face clouded over, but she answered:  "Ah, well--
-you will see, presently."
-
-The answer puzzled him.  "Why--do you mean that
-you've been overtaken?"
-
-She shrugged her shoulders, with a little movement
-like Nastasia's, and rejoined in a lighter tone:  "Shall
-we walk on?  I'm so cold after the sermon.  And what
-does it matter, now you're here to protect me?"
-
-The blood rose to his temples and he caught a fold of
-her cloak.  "Ellen--what is it?  You must tell me."
-
-"Oh, presently--let's run a race first: my feet are
-freezing to the ground," she cried; and gathering up the
-cloak she fled away across the snow, the dog leaping
-about her with challenging barks.  For a moment Archer
-stood watching, his gaze delighted by the flash of the
-red meteor against the snow; then he started after her,
-and they met, panting and laughing, at a wicket that
-led into the park.
-
-She looked up at him and smiled.  "I knew you'd
-come!"
-
-"That shows you wanted me to," he returned, with a
-disproportionate joy in their nonsense.  The white glitter
-of the trees filled the air with its own mysterious
-brightness, and as they walked on over the snow the
-ground seemed to sing under their feet.
-
-"Where did you come from?" Madame Olenska asked.
-
-He told her, and added:  "It was because I got your
-note."
-
-After a pause she said, with a just perceptible chill in
-her voice:  "May asked you to take care of me."
-
-"I didn't need any asking."
-
-"You mean--I'm so evidently helpless and defenceless?
-What a poor thing you must all think me!  But women
-here seem not--seem never to feel the need: any more
-than the blessed in heaven."
-
-He lowered his voice to ask:  "What sort of a need?"
-
-"Ah, don't ask me!  I don't speak your language,"
-she retorted petulantly.
-
-The answer smote him like a blow, and he stood still
-in the path, looking down at her.
-
-"What did I come for, if I don't speak yours?"
-
-"Oh, my friend--!"  She laid her hand lightly on his
-arm, and he pleaded earnestly:  "Ellen--why won't you
-tell me what's happened?"
-
-She shrugged again.  "Does anything ever happen in
-heaven?"
-
-He was silent, and they walked on a few yards
-without exchanging a word.  Finally she said:  "I will
-tell you--but where, where, where?  One can't be alone
-for a minute in that great seminary of a house, with all
-the doors wide open, and always a servant bringing
-tea, or a log for the fire, or the newspaper!  Is there
-nowhere in an American house where one may be by
-one's self?  You're so shy, and yet you're so public.  I
-always feel as if I were in the convent again--or on the
-stage, before a dreadfully polite audience that never
-applauds."
-
-"Ah, you don't like us!" Archer exclaimed.
-
-They were walking past the house of the old
-Patroon, with its squat walls and small square windows
-compactly grouped about a central chimney.  The shutters
-stood wide, and through one of the newly-washed
-windows Archer caught the light of a fire.
-
-"Why--the house is open!" he said.
-
-She stood still.  "No; only for today, at least.  I wanted
-to see it, and Mr. van der Luyden had the fire lit and
-the windows opened, so that we might stop there on
-the way back from church this morning."  She ran up
-the steps and tried the door.  "It's still unlocked--what
-luck!  Come in and we can have a quiet talk.  Mrs. van
-der Luyden has driven over to see her old aunts at
-Rhinebeck and we shan't be missed at the house for
-another hour."
-
-He followed her into the narrow passage.  His spirits,
-which had dropped at her last words, rose with an
-irrational leap.  The homely little house stood there, its
-panels and brasses shining in the firelight, as if magically
-created to receive them.  A big bed of embers still
-gleamed in the kitchen chimney, under an iron pot
-hung from an ancient crane.  Rush-bottomed arm-chairs
-faced each other across the tiled hearth, and rows of
-Delft plates stood on shelves against the walls.  Archer
-stooped over and threw a log upon the embers.
-
-Madame Olenska, dropping her cloak, sat down in
-one of the chairs.  Archer leaned against the chimney
-and looked at her.
-
-"You're laughing now; but when you wrote me you
-were unhappy," he said.
-
-"Yes."  She paused.  "But I can't feel unhappy when
-you're here."
-
-"I sha'n't be here long," he rejoined, his lips stiffening
-with the effort to say just so much and no more.
-
-"No; I know.  But I'm improvident: I live in the
-moment when I'm happy."
-
-The words stole through him like a temptation, and
-to close his senses to it he moved away from the hearth
-and stood gazing out at the black tree-boles against the
-snow.  But it was as if she too had shifted her place, and
-he still saw her, between himself and the trees, drooping
-over the fire with her indolent smile.  Archer's heart
-was beating insubordinately.  What if it were from him
-that she had been running away, and if she had waited
-to tell him so till they were here alone together in this
-secret room?
-
-"Ellen, if I'm really a help to you--if you really
-wanted me to come--tell me what's wrong, tell me
-what it is you're running away from," he insisted.
-
-He spoke without shifting his position, without even
-turning to look at her: if the thing was to happen, it
-was to happen in this way, with the whole width of the
-room between them, and his eyes still fixed on the
-outer snow.
-
-For a long moment she was silent; and in that moment
-Archer imagined her, almost heard her, stealing
-up behind him to throw her light arms about his neck.
-While he waited, soul and body throbbing with the
-miracle to come, his eyes mechanically received the
-image of a heavily-coated man with his fur collar turned
-up who was advancing along the path to the house.
-The man was Julius Beaufort.
-
-"Ah--!" Archer cried, bursting into a laugh.
-
-Madame Olenska had sprung up and moved to his
-side, slipping her hand into his; but after a glance
-through the window her face paled and she shrank
-back.
-
-"So that was it?" Archer said derisively.
-
-"I didn't know he was here," Madame Olenska
-murmured.  Her hand still clung to Archer's; but he drew
-away from her, and walking out into the passage threw
-open the door of the house.
-
-"Hallo, Beaufort--this way!  Madame Olenska was
-expecting you," he said.
-
-
-During his journey back to New York the next morning,
-Archer relived with a fatiguing vividness his last
-moments at Skuytercliff.
-
-Beaufort, though clearly annoyed at finding him with
-Madame Olenska, had, as usual, carried off the situation
-high-handedly.  His way of ignoring people whose
-presence inconvenienced him actually gave them, if they
-were sensitive to it, a feeling of invisibility, of
-nonexistence.  Archer, as the three strolled back through
-the park, was aware of this odd sense of disembodiment;
-and humbling as it was to his vanity it gave him the
-ghostly advantage of observing unobserved.
-
-Beaufort had entered the little house with his usual
-easy assurance; but he could not smile away the vertical
-line between his eyes.  It was fairly clear that Madame
-Olenska had not known that he was coming,
-though her words to Archer had hinted at the possibility;
-at any rate, she had evidently not told him where
-she was going when she left New York, and her unexplained
-departure had exasperated him.  The ostensible
-reason of his appearance was the discovery, the very
-night before, of a "perfect little house," not in the
-market, which was really just the thing for her, but
-would be snapped up instantly if she didn't take it; and
-he was loud in mock-reproaches for the dance she had
-led him in running away just as he had found it.
-
-"If only this new dodge for talking along a wire had
-been a little bit nearer perfection I might have told you
-all this from town, and been toasting my toes before
-the club fire at this minute, instead of tramping after
-you through the snow," he grumbled, disguising a real
-irritation under the pretence of it; and at this opening
-Madame Olenska twisted the talk away to the fantastic
-possibility that they might one day actually converse
-with each other from street to street, or even--
-incredible dream!--from one town to another.  This struck
-from all three allusions to Edgar Poe and Jules Verne,
-and such platitudes as naturally rise to the lips of the
-most intelligent when they are talking against time, and
-dealing with a new invention in which it would seem
-ingenuous to believe too soon; and the question of the
-telephone carried them safely back to the big house.
-
-Mrs. van der Luyden had not yet returned; and
-Archer took his leave and walked off to fetch the
-cutter, while Beaufort followed the Countess Olenska
-indoors.  It was probable that, little as the van der
-Luydens encouraged unannounced visits, he could count
-on being asked to dine, and sent back to the station to
-catch the nine o'clock train; but more than that he
-would certainly not get, for it would be inconceivable
-to his hosts that a gentleman travelling without luggage
-should wish to spend the night, and distasteful to them
-to propose it to a person with whom they were on
-terms of such limited cordiality as Beaufort.
-
-Beaufort knew all this, and must have foreseen it;
-and his taking the long journey for so small a reward
-gave the measure of his impatience.  He was undeniably
-in pursuit of the Countess Olenska; and Beaufort had
-only one object in view in his pursuit of pretty women.
-His dull and childless home had long since palled on
-him; and in addition to more permanent consolations
-he was always in quest of amorous adventures in his
-own set.  This was the man from whom Madame Olenska
-was avowedly flying: the question was whether she had
-fled because his importunities displeased her, or
-because she did not wholly trust herself to resist them;
-unless, indeed, all her talk of flight had been a blind,
-and her departure no more than a manoeuvre.
-
-Archer did not really believe this.  Little as he had
-actually seen of Madame Olenska, he was beginning to
-think that he could read her face, and if not her face,
-her voice; and both had betrayed annoyance, and even
-dismay, at Beaufort's sudden appearance.  But, after all,
-if this were the case, was it not worse than if she had
-left New York for the express purpose of meeting him?
-If she had done that, she ceased to be an object of
-interest, she threw in her lot with the vulgarest of
-dissemblers: a woman engaged in a love affair with
-Beaufort "classed" herself irretrievably.
-
-No, it was worse a thousand times if, judging
-Beaufort, and probably despising him, she was yet drawn to
-him by all that gave him an advantage over the other
-men about her: his habit of two continents and two
-societies, his familiar association with artists and actors
-and people generally in the world's eye, and his careless
-contempt for local prejudices.  Beaufort was vulgar, he
-was uneducated, he was purse-proud; but the circumstances
-of his life, and a certain native shrewdness,
-made him better worth talking to than many men,
-morally and socially his betters, whose horizon was
-bounded by the Battery and the Central Park.  How
-should any one coming from a wider world not feel the
-difference and be attracted by it?
-
-Madame Olenska, in a burst of irritation, had said to
-Archer that he and she did not talk the same language;
-and the young man knew that in some respects this was
-true.  But Beaufort understood every turn of her dialect,
-and spoke it fluently: his view of life, his tone, his
-attitude, were merely a coarser reflection of those
-revealed in Count Olenski's letter.  This might seem to be
-to his disadvantage with Count Olenski's wife; but
-Archer was too intelligent to think that a young woman
-like Ellen Olenska would necessarily recoil from everything
-that reminded her of her past.  She might believe
-herself wholly in revolt against it; but what had charmed
-her in it would still charm her, even though it were
-against her will.
-
-Thus, with a painful impartiality, did the young man
-make out the case for Beaufort, and for Beaufort's
-victim.  A longing to enlighten her was strong in him;
-and there were moments when he imagined that all she
-asked was to be enlightened.
-
-That evening he unpacked his books from London.
-The box was full of things he had been waiting for
-impatiently; a new volume of Herbert Spencer, another
-collection of the prolific Alphonse Daudet's brilliant
-tales, and a novel called "Middlemarch," as to which
-there had lately been interesting things said in the
-reviews.  He had declined three dinner invitations in
-favour of this feast; but though he turned the pages with
-the sensuous joy of the book-lover, he did not know
-what he was reading, and one book after another
-dropped from his hand.  Suddenly, among them, he lit
-on a small volume of verse which he had ordered
-because the name had attracted him:  "The House of
-Life."  He took it up, and found himself plunged in an
-atmosphere unlike any he had ever breathed in books;
-so warm, so rich, and yet so ineffably tender, that it
-gave a new and haunting beauty to the most elementary
-of human passions.  All through the night he pursued
-through those enchanted pages the vision of a
-woman who had the face of Ellen Olenska; but when
-he woke the next morning, and looked out at the
-brownstone houses across the street, and thought of his
-desk in Mr. Letterblair's office, and the family pew in
-Grace Church, his hour in the park of Skuytercliff
-became as far outside the pale of probability as the
-visions of the night.
-
-"Mercy, how pale you look, Newland!" Janey
-commented over the coffee-cups at breakfast; and his mother
-added:  "Newland, dear, I've noticed lately that you've
-been coughing; I do hope you're not letting yourself be
-overworked?"  For it was the conviction of both ladies
-that, under the iron despotism of his senior partners,
-the young man's life was spent in the most exhausting
-professional labours--and he had never thought it
-necessary to undeceive them.
-
-The next two or three days dragged by heavily.  The
-taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and
-there were moments when he felt as if he were being
-buried alive under his future.  He heard nothing of the
-Countess Olenska, or of the perfect little house, and
-though he met Beaufort at the club they merely nodded
-at each other across the whist-tables.  It was not till the
-fourth evening that he found a note awaiting him on
-his return home.  "Come late tomorrow: I must explain
-to you.  Ellen."  These were the only words it contained.
-
-The young man, who was dining out, thrust the note
-into his pocket, smiling a little at the Frenchness of the
-"to you."  After dinner he went to a play; and it was
-not until his return home, after midnight, that he drew
-Madame Olenska's missive out again and re-read it
-slowly a number of times.  There were several ways of
-answering it, and he gave considerable thought to each
-one during the watches of an agitated night.  That on
-which, when morning came, he finally decided was to
-pitch some clothes into a portmanteau and jump on
-board a boat that was leaving that very afternoon for
-St. Augustine.
-
-
-
-XVI.
-
-When Archer walked down the sandy main street
-of St. Augustine to the house which had been
-pointed out to him as Mr. Welland's, and saw May
-Welland standing under a magnolia with the sun in her
-hair, he wondered why he had waited so long to come.
-
-Here was the truth, here was reality, here was the life
-that belonged to him; and he, who fancied himself so
-scornful of arbitrary restraints, had been afraid to break
-away from his desk because of what people might
-think of his stealing a holiday!
-
-Her first exclamation was:  "Newland--has anything
-happened?" and it occurred to him that it would have
-been more "feminine" if she had instantly read in his
-eyes why he had come.  But when he answered:  "Yes--I
-found I had to see you," her happy blushes took the
-chill from her surprise, and he saw how easily he
-would be forgiven, and how soon even Mr. Letterblair's
-mild disapproval would be smiled away by a tolerant
-family.
-
-Early as it was, the main street was no place for any
-but formal greetings, and Archer longed to be alone
-with May, and to pour out all his tenderness and his
-impatience.  It still lacked an hour to the late Welland
-breakfast-time, and instead of asking him to come in
-she proposed that they should walk out to an old
-orange-garden beyond the town.  She had just been for
-a row on the river, and the sun that netted the little
-waves with gold seemed to have caught her in its
-meshes.  Across the warm brown of her cheek her blown
-hair glittered like silver wire; and her eyes too looked
-lighter, almost pale in their youthful limpidity.  As she
-walked beside Archer with her long swinging gait her
-face wore the vacant serenity of a young marble athlete.
-
-To Archer's strained nerves the vision was as soothing
-as the sight of the blue sky and the lazy river.  They
-sat down on a bench under the orange-trees and he put
-his arm about her and kissed her.  It was like drinking
-at a cold spring with the sun on it; but his pressure
-may have been more vehement than he had intended,
-for the blood rose to her face and she drew back as if
-he had startled her.
-
-"What is it?" he asked, smiling; and she looked at
-him with surprise, and answered:  "Nothing."
-
-A slight embarrassment fell on them, and her hand
-slipped out of his.  It was the only time that he had
-kissed her on the lips except for their fugitive embrace
-in the Beaufort conservatory, and he saw that she was
-disturbed, and shaken out of her cool boyish composure.
-
-"Tell me what you do all day," he said, crossing his
-arms under his tilted-back head, and pushing his hat
-forward to screen the sun-dazzle.  To let her talk about
-familiar and simple things was the easiest way of carrying
-on his own independent train of thought; and he
-sat listening to her simple chronicle of swimming, sailing
-and riding, varied by an occasional dance at the
-primitive inn when a man-of-war came in.  A few pleasant
-people from Philadelphia and Baltimore were
-picknicking at the inn, and the Selfridge Merrys had
-come down for three weeks because Kate Merry had
-had bronchitis.  They were planning to lay out a lawn
-tennis court on the sands; but no one but Kate and
-May had racquets, and most of the people had not
-even heard of the game.
-
-All this kept her very busy, and she had not had time
-to do more than look at the little vellum book that
-Archer had sent her the week before (the "Sonnets
-from the Portuguese"); but she was learning by heart
-"How they brought the Good News from Ghent to
-Aix," because it was one of the first things he had ever
-read to her; and it amused her to be able to tell him
-that Kate Merry had never even heard of a poet called
-Robert Browning.
-
-Presently she started up, exclaiming that they would
-be late for breakfast; and they hurried back to the
-tumble-down house with its pointless porch and unpruned
-hedge of plumbago and pink geraniums where
-the Wellands were installed for the winter.  Mr.
-Welland's sensitive domesticity shrank from the discomforts
-of the slovenly southern hotel, and at immense
-expense, and in face of almost insuperable difficulties,
-Mrs. Welland was obliged, year after year, to improvise
-an establishment partly made up of discontented
-New York servants and partly drawn from the local
-African supply.
-
-"The doctors want my husband to feel that he is in
-his own home; otherwise he would be so wretched that
-the climate would not do him any good," she
-explained, winter after winter, to the sympathising
-Philadelphians and Baltimoreans; and Mr. Welland, beaming
-across a breakfast table miraculously supplied with the
-most varied delicacies, was presently saying to Archer:
-"You see, my dear fellow, we camp--we literally camp.
-I tell my wife and May that I want to teach them how
-to rough it."
-
-Mr. and Mrs. Welland had been as much surprised
-as their daughter by the young man's sudden arrival;
-but it had occurred to him to explain that he had felt
-himself on the verge of a nasty cold, and this seemed to
-Mr. Welland an all-sufficient reason for abandoning
-any duty.
-
-"You can't be too careful, especially toward spring,"
-he said, heaping his plate with straw-coloured griddle-
-cakes and drowning them in golden syrup.  "If I'd only
-been as prudent at your age May would have been
-dancing at the Assemblies now, instead of spending her
-winters in a wilderness with an old invalid."
-
-"Oh, but I love it here, Papa; you know I do.  If only
-Newland could stay I should like it a thousand times
-better than New York."
-
-"Newland must stay till he has quite thrown off his
-cold," said Mrs. Welland indulgently; and the young
-man laughed, and said he supposed there was such a
-thing as one's profession.
-
-He managed, however, after an exchange of telegrams
-with the firm, to make his cold last a week; and
-it shed an ironic light on the situation to know that
-Mr. Letterblair's indulgence was partly due to the
-satisfactory way in which his brilliant young junior partner
-had settled the troublesome matter of the Olenski
-divorce.  Mr. Letterblair had let Mrs. Welland know that
-Mr. Archer had "rendered an invaluable service" to the
-whole family, and that old Mrs. Manson Mingott had
-been particularly pleased; and one day when May had
-gone for a drive with her father in the only vehicle the
-place produced Mrs. Welland took occasion to touch
-on a topic which she always avoided in her daughter's
-presence.
-
-"I'm afraid Ellen's ideas are not at all like ours.  She
-was barely eighteen when Medora Manson took her
-back to Europe--you remember the excitement when
-she appeared in black at her coming-out ball?  Another
-of Medora's fads--really this time it was almost
-prophetic!  That must have been at least twelve years ago;
-and since then Ellen has never been to America.  No
-wonder she is completely Europeanised."
-
-"But European society is not given to divorce: Countess
-Olenska thought she would be conforming to American
-ideas in asking for her freedom."  It was the first
-time that the young man had pronounced her name
-since he had left Skuytercliff, and he felt the colour rise
-to his cheek.
-
-Mrs. Welland smiled compassionately.  "That is just
-like the extraordinary things that foreigners invent about
-us. They think we dine at two o'clock and countenance
-divorce!  That is why it seems to me so foolish to
-entertain them when they come to New York.  They
-accept our hospitality, and then they go home and
-repeat the same stupid stories."
-
-Archer made no comment on this, and Mrs. Welland
-continued:  "But we do most thoroughly appreciate your
-persuading Ellen to give up the idea.  Her grandmother
-and her uncle Lovell could do nothing with her; both
-of them have written that her changing her mind was
-entirely due to your influence--in fact she said so to
-her grandmother.  She has an unbounded admiration
-for you.  Poor Ellen--she was always a wayward child.
-I wonder what her fate will be?"
-
-"What we've all contrived to make it," he felt like
-answering.  "If you'd all of you rather she should be
-Beaufort's mistress than some decent fellow's wife you've
-certainly gone the right way about it."
-
-He wondered what Mrs. Welland would have said if
-he had uttered the words instead of merely thinking
-them.  He could picture the sudden decomposure of her
-firm placid features, to which a lifelong mastery over
-trifles had given an air of factitious authority.  Traces
-still lingered on them of a fresh beauty like her daughter's;
-and he asked himself if May's face was doomed
-to thicken into the same middle-aged image of invincible
-innocence.
-
-Ah, no, he did not want May to have that kind of
-innocence, the innocence that seals the mind against
-imagination and the heart against experience!
-
-"I verily believe," Mrs. Welland continued, "that if
-the horrible business had come out in the newspapers it
-would have been my husband's death-blow.  I don't
-know any of the details; I only ask not to, as I told
-poor Ellen when she tried to talk to me about it.
-Having an invalid to care for, I have to keep my mind
-bright and happy.  But Mr. Welland was terribly upset;
-he had a slight temperature every morning while we
-were waiting to hear what had been decided.  It was the
-horror of his girl's learning that such things were
-possible--but of course, dear Newland, you felt that
-too.  We all knew that you were thinking of May."
-
-"I'm always thinking of May," the young man
-rejoined, rising to cut short the conversation.
-
-He had meant to seize the opportunity of his private
-talk with Mrs. Welland to urge her to advance the date
-of his marriage.  But he could think of no arguments
-that would move her, and with a sense of relief he saw
-Mr. Welland and May driving up to the door.
-
-His only hope was to plead again with May, and on
-the day before his departure he walked with her to the
-ruinous garden of the Spanish Mission.  The background
-lent itself to allusions to European scenes; and May,
-who was looking her loveliest under a wide-brimmed
-hat that cast a shadow of mystery over her too-clear
-eyes, kindled into eagerness as he spoke of Granada
-and the Alhambra.
-
-"We might be seeing it all this spring--even the
-Easter ceremonies at Seville," he urged, exaggerating
-his demands in the hope of a larger concession.
-
-"Easter in Seville?  And it will be Lent next week!"
-she laughed.
-
-"Why shouldn't we be married in Lent?" he
-rejoined; but she looked so shocked that he saw his
-mistake.
-
-"Of course I didn't mean that, dearest; but soon
-after Easter--so that we could sail at the end of April.  I
-know I could arrange it at the office."
-
-She smiled dreamily upon the possibility; but he
-perceived that to dream of it sufficed her.  It was like
-hearing him read aloud out of his poetry books the
-beautiful things that could not possibly happen in real
-life.
-
-"Oh, do go on, Newland; I do love your descriptions."
-
-"But why should they be only descriptions?  Why
-shouldn't we make them real?"
-
-"We shall, dearest, of course; next year."  Her voice
-lingered over it.
-
-"Don't you want them to be real sooner?  Can't I
-persuade you to break away now?"
-
-She bowed her head, vanishing from him under her
-conniving hat-brim.
-
-"Why should we dream away another year?  Look at
-me, dear!  Don't you understand how I want you for
-my wife?"
-
-For a moment she remained motionless; then she
-raised on him eyes of such despairing dearness that he
-half-released her waist from his hold.  But suddenly her
-look changed and deepened inscrutably.  "I'm not sure
-if I DO understand," she said.  "Is it--is it because
-you're not certain of continuing to care for me?"
-
-Archer sprang up from his seat.  "My God--perhaps--I
-don't know," he broke out angrily.
-
-May Welland rose also; as they faced each other she
-seemed to grow in womanly stature and dignity.  Both
-were silent for a moment, as if dismayed by the unforeseen
-trend of their words: then she said in a low voice:
-"If that is it--is there some one else?"
-
-"Some one else--between you and me?"  He echoed
-her words slowly, as though they were only half-
-intelligible and he wanted time to repeat the question
-to himself.  She seemed to catch the uncertainty of his
-voice, for she went on in a deepening tone:  "Let us
-talk frankly, Newland.  Sometimes I've felt a difference
-in you; especially since our engagement has been
-announced."
-
-"Dear--what madness!" he recovered himself to
-exclaim.
-
-She met his protest with a faint smile.  "If it is, it
-won't hurt us to talk about it."  She paused, and added,
-lifting her head with one of her noble movements:  "Or
-even if it's true: why shouldn't we speak of it?  You
-might so easily have made a mistake."
-
-He lowered his head, staring at the black leaf-pattern
-on the sunny path at their feet.  "Mistakes are always
-easy to make; but if I had made one of the kind you
-suggest, is it likely that I should be imploring you to
-hasten our marriage?"
-
-She looked downward too, disturbing the pattern
-with the point of her sunshade while she struggled for
-expression.  "Yes," she said at length.  "You might want--
-once for all--to settle the question: it's one way."
-
-Her quiet lucidity startled him, but did not mislead
-him into thinking her insensible.  Under her hat-brim he
-saw the pallor of her profile, and a slight tremor of the
-nostril above her resolutely steadied lips.
-
-"Well--?" he questioned, sitting down on the bench,
-and looking up at her with a frown that he tried to
-make playful.
-
-She dropped back into her seat and went on:  "You
-mustn't think that a girl knows as little as her parents
-imagine.  One hears and one notices--one has one's
-feelings and ideas.  And of course, long before you told
-me that you cared for me, I'd known that there was
-some one else you were interested in; every one was
-talking about it two years ago at Newport.  And once I
-saw you sitting together on the verandah at a dance--
-and when she came back into the house her face was
-sad, and I felt sorry for her; I remembered it afterward,
-when we were engaged."
-
-Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper, and she sat
-clasping and unclasping her hands about the handle of
-her sunshade.  The young man laid his upon them with
-a gentle pressure; his heart dilated with an inexpressible relief.
-
-"My dear child--was THAT it?  If you only knew the
-truth!"
-
-She raised her head quickly.  "Then there is a truth I
-don't know?"
-
-He kept his hand over hers.  "I meant, the truth
-about the old story you speak of."
-
-"But that's what I want to know, Newland--what I
-ought to know.  I couldn't have my happiness made out
-of a wrong--an unfairness--to somebody else.  And I
-want to believe that it would be the same with you.
-What sort of a life could we build on such foundations?"
-
-Her face had taken on a look of such tragic courage
-that he felt like bowing himself down at her feet.  "I've
-wanted to say this for a long time," she went on.  "I've
-wanted to tell you that, when two people really love
-each other, I understand that there may be situations
-which make it right that they should--should go against
-public opinion.  And if you feel yourself in any way
-pledged . . . pledged to the person we've spoken of . . .
-and if there is any way . . . any way in which you can
-fulfill your pledge . . . even by her getting a divorce
-. . .  Newland, don't give her up because of me!"
-
-His surprise at discovering that her fears had
-fastened upon an episode so remote and so completely of
-the past as his love-affair with Mrs. Thorley Rushworth
-gave way to wonder at the generosity of her view.
-There was something superhuman in an attitude so
-recklessly unorthodox, and if other problems had not
-pressed on him he would have been lost in wonder at
-the prodigy of the Wellands' daughter urging him to
-marry his former mistress.  But he was still dizzy with
-the glimpse of the precipice they had skirted, and full
-of a new awe at the mystery of young-girlhood.
-
-For a moment he could not speak; then he said:
-"There is no pledge--no obligation whatever--of the
-kind you think.  Such cases don't always--present themselves
-quite as simply as . . . But that's no matter . . . I
-love your generosity, because I feel as you do about
-those things . . . I feel that each case must be judged
-individually, on its own merits . . . irrespective of stupid
-conventionalities . . . I mean, each woman's right
-to her liberty--"  He pulled himself up, startled by the
-turn his thoughts had taken, and went on, looking at
-her with a smile:  "Since you understand so many things,
-dearest, can't you go a little farther, and understand
-the uselessness of our submitting to another form of
-the same foolish conventionalities?  If there's no one
-and nothing between us, isn't that an argument for
-marrying quickly, rather than for more delay?"
-
-She flushed with joy and lifted her face to his; as he
-bent to it he saw that her eyes were full of happy tears.
-But in another moment she seemed to have descended
-from her womanly eminence to helpless and timorous
-girlhood; and he understood that her courage and
-initiative were all for others, and that she had none for
-herself.  It was evident that the effort of speaking had
-been much greater than her studied composure betrayed,
-and that at his first word of reassurance she had dropped
-back into the usual, as a too-adventurous child takes
-refuge in its mother's arms.
-
-Archer had no heart to go on pleading with her; he
-was too much disappointed at the vanishing of the new
-being who had cast that one deep look at him from her
-transparent eyes.  May seemed to be aware of his
-disappointment, but without knowing how to alleviate it;
-and they stood up and walked silently home.
-
-
-
-XVII.
-
-"Your cousin the Countess called on mother while
-you were away," Janey Archer announced to her
-brother on the evening of his return.
-
-The young man, who was dining alone with his
-mother and sister, glanced up in surprise and saw Mrs.
-Archer's gaze demurely bent on her plate.  Mrs. Archer
-did not regard her seclusion from the world as a reason
-for being forgotten by it; and Newland guessed that
-she was slightly annoyed that he should be surprised by
-Madame Olenska's visit.
-
-"She had on a black velvet polonaise with jet
-buttons, and a tiny green monkey muff; I never saw her so
-stylishly dressed," Janey continued.  "She came alone,
-early on Sunday afternoon; luckily the fire was lit in
-the drawing-room.  She had one of those new card-
-cases.  She said she wanted to know us because you'd
-been so good to her."
-
-Newland laughed.  "Madame Olenska always takes
-that tone about her friends.  She's very happy at being
-among her own people again."
-
-"Yes, so she told us," said Mrs. Archer.  "I must say
-she seems thankful to be here."
-
-"I hope you liked her, mother."
-
-Mrs. Archer drew her lips together.  "She certainly
-lays herself out to please, even when she is calling on
-an old lady."
-
-"Mother doesn't think her simple," Janey interjected,
-her eyes screwed upon her brother's face.
-
-"It's just my old-fashioned feeling; dear May is my
-ideal," said Mrs. Archer.
-
-"Ah," said her son, "they're not alike."
-
-
-Archer had left St. Augustine charged with many
-messages for old Mrs. Mingott; and a day or two after his
-return to town he called on her.
-
-The old lady received him with unusual warmth; she
-was grateful to him for persuading the Countess Olenska
-to give up the idea of a divorce; and when he told her
-that he had deserted the office without leave, and rushed
-down to St. Augustine simply because he wanted to see
-May, she gave an adipose chuckle and patted his knee
-with her puff-ball hand.
-
-"Ah, ah--so you kicked over the traces, did you?
-And I suppose Augusta and Welland pulled long faces,
-and behaved as if the end of the world had come?  But
-little May--she knew better, I'll be bound?"
-
-"I hoped she did; but after all she wouldn't agree to
-what I'd gone down to ask for."
-
-"Wouldn't she indeed?  And what was that?"
-
-"I wanted to get her to promise that we should be
-married in April.  What's the use of our wasting another year?"
-
-Mrs. Manson Mingott screwed up her little mouth
-into a grimace of mimic prudery and twinkled at him
-through malicious lids.  "`Ask Mamma,' I suppose--
-the usual story.  Ah, these Mingotts--all alike!  Born in
-a rut, and you can't root 'em out of it.  When I built
-this house you'd have thought I was moving to California!
-Nobody ever HAD built above Fortieth Street--no,
-says I, nor above the Battery either, before Christopher
-Columbus discovered America.  No, no; not one of
-them wants to be different; they're as scared of it as the
-small-pox.  Ah, my dear Mr. Archer, I thank my stars
-I'm nothing but a vulgar Spicer; but there's not one of
-my own children that takes after me but my little
-Ellen."  She broke off, still twinkling at him, and asked,
-with the casual irrelevance of old age:  "Now, why in
-the world didn't you marry my little Ellen?"
-
-Archer laughed.  "For one thing, she wasn't there to
-be married."
-
-"No--to be sure; more's the pity.  And now it's too
-late; her life is finished."  She spoke with the cold-
-blooded complacency of the aged throwing earth into
-the grave of young hopes.  The young man's heart grew
-chill, and he said hurriedly:  "Can't I persuade you to
-use your influence with the Wellands, Mrs. Mingott?  I
-wasn't made for long engagements."
-
-Old Catherine beamed on him approvingly.  "No; I
-can see that.  You've got a quick eye.  When you were a
-little boy I've no doubt you liked to be helped first."
-She threw back her head with a laugh that made her
-chins ripple like little waves.  "Ah, here's my Ellen
-now!" she exclaimed, as the portieres parted behind
-her.
-
-Madame Olenska came forward with a smile.  Her
-face looked vivid and happy, and she held out her hand
-gaily to Archer while she stooped to her grandmother's
-kiss.
-
-"I was just saying to him, my dear:  `Now, why
-didn't you marry my little Ellen?'"
-
-Madame Olenska looked at Archer, still smiling.  "And
-what did he answer?"
-
-"Oh, my darling, I leave you to find that out!  He's
-been down to Florida to see his sweetheart."
-
-"Yes, I know."  She still looked at him.  "I went to see
-your mother, to ask where you'd gone.  I sent a note
-that you never answered, and I was afraid you were
-ill."
-
-He muttered something about leaving unexpectedly,
-in a great hurry, and having intended to write to her
-from St. Augustine.
-
-"And of course once you were there you never thought
-of me again!"  She continued to beam on him with a
-gaiety that might have been a studied assumption of
-indifference.
-
-"If she still needs me, she's determined not to let me
-see it," he thought, stung by her manner.  He wanted to
-thank her for having been to see his mother, but under
-the ancestress's malicious eye he felt himself tongue-
-tied and constrained.
-
-"Look at him--in such hot haste to get married that
-he took French leave and rushed down to implore the
-silly girl on his knees!  That's something like a lover--
-that's the way handsome Bob Spicer carried off my
-poor mother; and then got tired of her before I was
-weaned--though they only had to wait eight months
-for me!  But there--you're not a Spicer, young man;
-luckily for you and for May.  It's only my poor Ellen
-that has kept any of their wicked blood; the rest of
-them are all model Mingotts," cried the old lady
-scornfully.
-
-Archer was aware that Madame Olenska, who had
-seated herself at her grandmother's side, was still
-thoughtfully scrutinising him.  The gaiety had faded
-from her eyes, and she said with great gentleness:  "Surely,
-Granny, we can persuade them between us to do as he
-wishes."
-
-Archer rose to go, and as his hand met Madame
-Olenska's he felt that she was waiting for him to make
-some allusion to her unanswered letter.
-
-"When can I see you?" he asked, as she walked with
-him to the door of the room.
-
-"Whenever you like; but it must be soon if you want
-to see the little house again.  I am moving next week."
-
-A pang shot through him at the memory of his
-lamplit hours in the low-studded drawing-room.  Few
-as they had been, they were thick with memories.
-
-"Tomorrow evening?"
-
-She nodded.  "Tomorrow; yes; but early.  I'm going
-out."
-
-The next day was a Sunday, and if she were "going
-out" on a Sunday evening it could, of course, be only
-to Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's.  He felt a slight movement
-of annoyance, not so much at her going there (for he
-rather liked her going where she pleased in spite of the
-van der Luydens), but because it was the kind of house
-at which she was sure to meet Beaufort, where she
-must have known beforehand that she would meet
-him--and where she was probably going for that
-purpose.
-
-"Very well; tomorrow evening," he repeated, inwardly
-resolved that he would not go early, and that by reaching
-her door late he would either prevent her from
-going to Mrs. Struthers's, or else arrive after she had
-started--which, all things considered, would no doubt
-be the simplest solution.
-
-
-It was only half-past eight, after all, when he rang the
-bell under the wisteria; not as late as he had intended
-by half an hour--but a singular restlessness had driven
-him to her door.  He reflected, however, that Mrs.
-Struthers's Sunday evenings were not like a ball, and
-that her guests, as if to minimise their delinquency,
-usually went early.
-
-The one thing he had not counted on, in entering
-Madame Olenska's hall, was to find hats and overcoats
-there.  Why had she bidden him to come early if she
-was having people to dine?  On a closer inspection of
-the garments besides which Nastasia was laying his
-own, his resentment gave way to curiosity.  The overcoats
-were in fact the very strangest he had ever seen
-under a polite roof; and it took but a glance to assure
-himself that neither of them belonged to Julius Beaufort.
-One was a shaggy yellow ulster of "reach-me-
-down" cut, the other a very old and rusty cloak with a
-cape--something like what the French called a "Macfarlane."
-This garment, which appeared to be made for
-a person of prodigious size, had evidently seen long
-and hard wear, and its greenish-black folds gave out a
-moist sawdusty smell suggestive of prolonged sessions
-against bar-room walls.  On it lay a ragged grey scarf
-and an odd felt hat of semiclerical shape.
-
-Archer raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Nastasia,
-who raised hers in return with a fatalistic "Gia!" as
-she threw open the drawing-room door.
-
-The young man saw at once that his hostess was not
-in the room; then, with surprise, he discovered another
-lady standing by the fire.  This lady, who was long, lean
-and loosely put together, was clad in raiment intricately
-looped and fringed, with plaids and stripes and
-bands of plain colour disposed in a design to which the
-clue seemed missing.  Her hair, which had tried to turn
-white and only succeeded in fading, was surmounted
-by a Spanish comb and black lace scarf, and silk mittens,
-visibly darned, covered her rheumatic hands.
-
-Beside her, in a cloud of cigar-smoke, stood the
-owners of the two overcoats, both in morning clothes
-that they had evidently not taken off since morning.  In
-one of the two, Archer, to his surprise, recognised Ned
-Winsett; the other and older, who was unknown to
-him, and whose gigantic frame declared him to be the
-wearer of the "Macfarlane," had a feebly leonine head
-with crumpled grey hair, and moved his arms with
-large pawing gestures, as though he were distributing
-lay blessings to a kneeling multitude.
-
-These three persons stood together on the hearth-
-rug, their eyes fixed on an extraordinarily large bouquet
-of crimson roses, with a knot of purple pansies at
-their base, that lay on the sofa where Madame Olenska
-usually sat.
-
-"What they must have cost at this season--though of
-course it's the sentiment one cares about!" the lady was
-saying in a sighing staccato as Archer came in.
-
-The three turned with surprise at his appearance,
-and the lady, advancing, held out her hand.
-
-"Dear Mr. Archer--almost my cousin Newland!"
-she said.  "I am the Marchioness Manson."
-
-Archer bowed, and she continued:  "My Ellen has
-taken me in for a few days.  I came from Cuba, where I
-have been spending the winter with Spanish friends--
-such delightful distinguished people: the highest nobility
-of old Castile--how I wish you could know them!
-But I was called away by our dear great friend here,
-Dr. Carver.  You don't know Dr. Agathon Carver,
-founder of the Valley of Love Community?"
-
-Dr. Carver inclined his leonine head, and the
-Marchioness continued:  "Ah, New York--New York--how
-little the life of the spirit has reached it!  But I see you
-do know Mr. Winsett."
-
-"Oh, yes--I reached him some time ago; but not by
-that route," Winsett said with his dry smile.
-
-The Marchioness shook her head reprovingly.  "How
-do you know, Mr. Winsett?  The spirit bloweth where it
-listeth."
-
-"List--oh, list!" interjected Dr. Carver in a stentorian
-murmur.
-
-"But do sit down, Mr. Archer.  We four have been
-having a delightful little dinner together, and my child
-has gone up to dress.  She expects you; she will be
-down in a moment.  We were just admiring these marvellous
-flowers, which will surprise her when she
-reappears."
-
-Winsett remained on his feet.  "I'm afraid I must be
-off.  Please tell Madame Olenska that we shall all feel
-lost when she abandons our street.  This house has been
-an oasis."
-
-"Ah, but she won't abandon YOU.  Poetry and art are
-the breath of life to her.  It IS poetry you write, Mr.
-Winsett?"
-
-"Well, no; but I sometimes read it," said Winsett,
-including the group in a general nod and slipping out
-of the room.
-
-"A caustic spirit--un peu sauvage.  But so witty; Dr.
-Carver, you DO think him witty?"
-
-"I never think of wit," said Dr. Carver severely.
-
-"Ah--ah--you never think of wit!  How merciless he
-is to us weak mortals, Mr. Archer!  But he lives only in
-the life of the spirit; and tonight he is mentally preparing
-the lecture he is to deliver presently at Mrs. Blenker's.
-Dr. Carver, would there be time, before you start for
-the Blenkers' to explain to Mr. Archer your illuminating
-discovery of the Direct Contact?  But no; I see it is
-nearly nine o'clock, and we have no right to detain you
-while so many are waiting for your message."
-
-Dr. Carver looked slightly disappointed at this
-conclusion, but, having compared his ponderous gold time-
-piece with Madame Olenska's little travelling-clock, he
-reluctantly gathered up his mighty limbs for departure.
-
-"I shall see you later, dear friend?" he suggested to
-the Marchioness, who replied with a smile:  "As soon
-as Ellen's carriage comes I will join you; I do hope the
-lecture won't have begun."
-
-Dr. Carver looked thoughtfully at Archer.  "Perhaps,
-if this young gentleman is interested in my experiences,
-Mrs. Blenker might allow you to bring him with you?"
-
-"Oh, dear friend, if it were possible--I am sure she
-would be too happy.  But I fear my Ellen counts on Mr.
-Archer herself."
-
-"That," said Dr. Carver, "is unfortunate--but here
-is my card."  He handed it to Archer, who read on it, in
-Gothic characters:
-
-
-|---------------------------|
-|      Agathon Carver       |
-|    The Valley of Love     |
-|   Kittasquattamy, N. Y.   |
-|---------------------------|
-
-
-Dr. Carver bowed himself out, and Mrs. Manson,
-with a sigh that might have been either of regret or
-relief, again waved Archer to a seat.
-
-"Ellen will be down in a moment; and before she
-comes, I am so glad of this quiet moment with you."
-
-Archer murmured his pleasure at their meeting, and
-the Marchioness continued, in her low sighing accents:
-"I know everything, dear Mr. Archer--my child has
-told me all you have done for her.  Your wise advice:
-your courageous firmness--thank heaven it was not
-too late!"
-
-The young man listened with considerable
-embarrassment.  Was there any one, he wondered, to whom
-Madame Olenska had not proclaimed his intervention
-in her private affairs?
-
-"Madame Olenska exaggerates; I simply gave her a
-legal opinion, as she asked me to."
-
-"Ah, but in doing it--in doing it you were the
-unconscious instrument of--of--what word have we moderns
-for Providence, Mr. Archer?" cried the lady, tilting
-her head on one side and drooping her lids mysteriously.
-"Little did you know that at that very moment I
-was being appealed to: being approached, in fact--from
-the other side of the Atlantic!"
-
-She glanced over her shoulder, as though fearful of
-being overheard, and then, drawing her chair nearer,
-and raising a tiny ivory fan to her lips, breathed behind
-it:  "By the Count himself--my poor, mad, foolish
-Olenski; who asks only to take her back on her own
-terms."
-
-"Good God!" Archer exclaimed, springing up.
-
-"You are horrified?  Yes, of course; I understand.  I
-don't defend poor Stanislas, though he has always called
-me his best friend.  He does not defend himself--he
-casts himself at her feet: in my person."  She tapped her
-emaciated bosom.  "I have his letter here."
-
-"A letter?--Has Madame Olenska seen it?" Archer
-stammered, his brain whirling with the shock of the
-announcement.
-
-The Marchioness Manson shook her head softly.
-"Time--time; I must have time.  I know my Ellen--
-haughty, intractable; shall I say, just a shade
-unforgiving?"
-
-"But, good heavens, to forgive is one thing; to go
-back into that hell--"
-
-"Ah, yes," the Marchioness acquiesced.  "So she
-describes it--my sensitive child!  But on the material side,
-Mr. Archer, if one may stoop to consider such things;
-do you know what she is giving up?  Those roses there
-on the sofa--acres like them, under glass and in the
-open, in his matchless terraced gardens at Nice!  Jewels--
-historic pearls: the Sobieski emeralds--sables,--but she
-cares nothing for all these!  Art and beauty, those she
-does care for, she lives for, as I always have; and those
-also surrounded her.  Pictures, priceless furniture, music,
-brilliant conversation--ah, that, my dear young
-man, if you'll excuse me, is what you've no conception
-of here!  And she had it all; and the homage of the
-greatest.  She tells me she is not thought handsome in
-New York--good heavens!  Her portrait has been painted
-nine times; the greatest artists in Europe have begged
-for the privilege.  Are these things nothing?  And the
-remorse of an adoring husband?"
-
-As the Marchioness Manson rose to her climax her
-face assumed an expression of ecstatic retrospection
-which would have moved Archer's mirth had he not
-been numb with amazement.
-
-He would have laughed if any one had foretold to
-him that his first sight of poor Medora Manson would
-have been in the guise of a messenger of Satan; but he
-was in no mood for laughing now, and she seemed to
-him to come straight out of the hell from which Ellen
-Olenska had just escaped.
-
-"She knows nothing yet--of all this?" he asked
-abruptly.
-
-Mrs. Manson laid a purple finger on her lips.
-"Nothing directly--but does she suspect?  Who can tell?  The
-truth is, Mr. Archer, I have been waiting to see you.
-From the moment I heard of the firm stand you had
-taken, and of your influence over her, I hoped it might
-be possible to count on your support--to convince
-you . . ."
-
-"That she ought to go back?  I would rather see her
-dead!" cried the young man violently.
-
-"Ah," the Marchioness murmured, without visible
-resentment.  For a while she sat in her arm-chair, opening
-and shutting the absurd ivory fan between her
-mittened fingers; but suddenly she lifted her head and
-listened.
-
-"Here she comes," she said in a rapid whisper; and
-then, pointing to the bouquet on the sofa:  "Am I to
-understand that you prefer THAT, Mr. Archer?  After all,
-marriage is marriage . . . and my niece is still a wife. . ."
-
-
-
-XVIII.
-
-"What are you two plotting together, aunt Medora?"
-Madame Olenska cried as she came into the room.
-
-She was dressed as if for a ball.  Everything about her
-shimmered and glimmered softly, as if her dress had
-been woven out of candle-beams; and she carried her
-head high, like a pretty woman challenging a roomful
-of rivals.
-
-"We were saying, my dear, that here was something
-beautiful to surprise you with," Mrs. Manson rejoined,
-rising to her feet and pointing archly to the flowers.
-
-Madame Olenska stopped short and looked at the
-bouquet.  Her colour did not change, but a sort of
-white radiance of anger ran over her like summer lightning.
-"Ah," she exclaimed, in a shrill voice that the
-young man had never heard, "who is ridiculous enough
-to send me a bouquet?  Why a bouquet?  And why
-tonight of all nights?  I am not going to a ball; I am not
-a girl engaged to be married.  But some people are
-always ridiculous."
-
-She turned back to the door, opened it, and called
-out:  "Nastasia!"
-
-The ubiquitous handmaiden promptly appeared, and
-Archer heard Madame Olenska say, in an Italian that
-she seemed to pronounce with intentional deliberateness
-in order that he might follow it:  "Here--throw
-this into the dustbin!" and then, as Nastasia stared
-protestingly:  "But no--it's not the fault of the poor
-flowers.  Tell the boy to carry them to the house three
-doors away, the house of Mr. Winsett, the dark gentleman
-who dined here.  His wife is ill--they may give her
-pleasure . . . The boy is out, you say?  Then, my dear
-one, run yourself; here, put my cloak over you and fly.
-I want the thing out of the house immediately!  And, as
-you live, don't say they come from me!"
-
-She flung her velvet opera cloak over the maid's
-shoulders and turned back into the drawing-room, shutting
-the door sharply.  Her bosom was rising high under
-its lace, and for a moment Archer thought she was
-about to cry; but she burst into a laugh instead, and
-looking from the Marchioness to Archer, asked abruptly:
-"And you two--have you made friends!"
-
-"It's for Mr. Archer to say, darling; he has waited
-patiently while you were dressing."
-
-"Yes--I gave you time enough: my hair wouldn't
-go," Madame Olenska said, raising her hand to the
-heaped-up curls of her chignon.  "But that reminds me:
-I see Dr. Carver is gone, and you'll be late at the
-Blenkers'.  Mr. Archer, will you put my aunt in the
-carriage?"
-
-She followed the Marchioness into the hall, saw her
-fitted into a miscellaneous heap of overshoes, shawls
-and tippets, and called from the doorstep:  "Mind, the
-carriage is to be back for me at ten!"  Then she returned
-to the drawing-room, where Archer, on re-entering it,
-found her standing by the mantelpiece, examining herself
-in the mirror.  It was not usual, in New York
-society, for a lady to address her parlour-maid as "my
-dear one," and send her out on an errand wrapped in
-her own opera-cloak; and Archer, through all his deeper
-feelings, tasted the pleasurable excitement of being in a
-world where action followed on emotion with such
-Olympian speed.
-
-Madame Olenska did not move when he came up
-behind her, and for a second their eyes met in the
-mirror; then she turned, threw herself into her sofa-
-corner, and sighed out:  "There's time for a cigarette."
-
-He handed her the box and lit a spill for her; and as
-the flame flashed up into her face she glanced at him
-with laughing eyes and said:  "What do you think of me
-in a temper?"
-
-Archer paused a moment; then he answered with
-sudden resolution:  "It makes me understand what your
-aunt has been saying about you."
-
-"I knew she'd been talking about me.  Well?"
-
-"She said you were used to all kinds of things--
-splendours and amusements and excitements--that we
-could never hope to give you here."
-
-Madame Olenska smiled faintly into the circle of
-smoke about her lips.
-
-"Medora is incorrigibly romantic.  It has made up to
-her for so many things!"
-
-Archer hesitated again, and again took his risk.  "Is your
-aunt's romanticism always consistent with accuracy?"
-
-"You mean: does she speak the truth?"  Her niece
-considered.  "Well, I'll tell you: in almost everything she
-says, there's something true and something untrue.  But
-why do you ask?  What has she been telling you?"
-
-He looked away into the fire, and then back at her
-shining presence.  His heart tightened with the thought
-that this was their last evening by that fireside, and that
-in a moment the carriage would come to carry her away.
-
-"She says--she pretends that Count Olenski has asked
-her to persuade you to go back to him."
-
-Madame Olenska made no answer.  She sat motionless,
-holding her cigarette in her half-lifted hand.  The
-expression of her face had not changed; and Archer
-remembered that he had before noticed her apparent
-incapacity for surprise.
-
-"You knew, then?" he broke out.
-
-She was silent for so long that the ash dropped from
-her cigarette.  She brushed it to the floor.  "She has
-hinted about a letter: poor darling!  Medora's hints--"
-
-"Is it at your husband's request that she has arrived
-here suddenly?"
-
-Madame Olenska seemed to consider this question
-also.  "There again: one can't tell.  She told me she had
-had a `spiritual summons,' whatever that is, from Dr.
-Carver.  I'm afraid she's going to marry Dr. Carver . . .
-poor Medora, there's always some one she wants to
-marry.  But perhaps the people in Cuba just got tired of
-her!  I think she was with them as a sort of paid
-companion.  Really, I don't know why she came."
-
-"But you do believe she has a letter from your
-husband?"
-
-Again Madame Olenska brooded silently; then she
-said:  "After all, it was to be expected."
-
-The young man rose and went to lean against the
-fireplace.  A sudden restlessness possessed him, and he
-was tongue-tied by the sense that their minutes were
-numbered, and that at any moment he might hear the
-wheels of the returning carriage.
-
-"You know that your aunt believes you will go back?"
-
-Madame Olenska raised her head quickly.  A deep
-blush rose to her face and spread over her neck and
-shoulders.  She blushed seldom and painfully, as if it
-hurt her like a burn.
-
-"Many cruel things have been believed of me," she
-said.
-
-"Oh, Ellen--forgive me; I'm a fool and a brute!"
-
-She smiled a little.  "You are horribly nervous; you
-have your own troubles.  I know you think the Wellands
-are unreasonable about your marriage, and of
-course I agree with you.  In Europe people don't understand
-our long American engagements; I suppose they
-are not as calm as we are."  She pronounced the "we"
-with a faint emphasis that gave it an ironic sound.
-
-Archer felt the irony but did not dare to take it up.
-After all, she had perhaps purposely deflected the
-conversation from her own affairs, and after the pain his
-last words had evidently caused her he felt that all he
-could do was to follow her lead.  But the sense of the
-waning hour made him desperate: he could not bear
-the thought that a barrier of words should drop
-between them again.
-
-"Yes," he said abruptly; "I went south to ask May
-to marry me after Easter.  There's no reason why we
-shouldn't be married then."
-
-"And May adores you--and yet you couldn't convince
-her?  I thought her too intelligent to be the slave
-of such absurd superstitions."
-
-"She IS too intelligent--she's not their slave."
-
-Madame Olenska looked at him.  "Well, then--I don't
-understand."
-
-Archer reddened, and hurried on with a rush.  "We
-had a frank talk--almost the first.  She thinks my
-impatience a bad sign."
-
-"Merciful heavens--a bad sign?"
-
-"She thinks it means that I can't trust myself to go
-on caring for her.  She thinks, in short, I want to marry
-her at once to get away from some one that I--care for
-more."
-
-Madame Olenska examined this curiously.  "But if
-she thinks that--why isn't she in a hurry too?"
-
-"Because she's not like that: she's so much nobler.
-She insists all the more on the long engagement, to give
-me time--"
-
-"Time to give her up for the other woman?"
-
-"If I want to."
-
-Madame Olenska leaned toward the fire and gazed
-into it with fixed eyes.  Down the quiet street Archer
-heard the approaching trot of her horses.
-
-"That IS noble," she said, with a slight break in her
-voice.
-
-"Yes.  But it's ridiculous."
-
-"Ridiculous?  Because you don't care for any one
-else?"
-
-"Because I don't mean to marry any one else."
-
-"Ah."  There was another long interval.  At length she
-looked up at him and asked:  "This other woman--
-does she love you?"
-
-"Oh, there's no other woman; I mean, the person
-that May was thinking of is--was never--"
-
-"Then, why, after all, are you in such haste?"
-
-"There's your carriage," said Archer.
-
-She half-rose and looked about her with absent eyes.
-Her fan and gloves lay on the sofa beside her and she
-picked them up mechanically.
-
-"Yes; I suppose I must be going."
-
-"You're going to Mrs. Struthers's?"
-
-"Yes."  She smiled and added:  "I must go where I am
-invited, or I should be too lonely.  Why not come with
-me?"
-
-Archer felt that at any cost he must keep her beside
-him, must make her give him the rest of her evening.
-Ignoring her question, he continued to lean against the
-chimney-piece, his eyes fixed on the hand in which she
-held her gloves and fan, as if watching to see if he had
-the power to make her drop them.
-
-"May guessed the truth," he said.  "There is another
-woman--but not the one she thinks."
-
-Ellen Olenska made no answer, and did not move.
-After a moment he sat down beside her, and, taking
-her hand, softly unclasped it, so that the gloves and fan
-fell on the sofa between them.
-
-She started up, and freeing herself from him moved
-away to the other side of the hearth.  "Ah, don't make
-love to me!  Too many people have done that," she
-said, frowning.
-
-Archer, changing colour, stood up also: it was the
-bitterest rebuke she could have given him.  "I have
-never made love to you," he said, "and I never shall.
-But you are the woman I would have married if it had
-been possible for either of us."
-
-"Possible for either of us?"  She looked at him with
-unfeigned astonishment.  "And you say that--when it's
-you who've made it impossible?"
-
-He stared at her, groping in a blackness through
-which a single arrow of light tore its blinding way.
-
-"I'VE made it impossible--?"
-
-"You, you, YOU!" she cried, her lip trembling like a
-child's on the verge of tears.  "Isn't it you who made me
-give up divorcing--give it up because you showed me
-how selfish and wicked it was, how one must sacrifice
-one's self to preserve the dignity of marriage . . . and to
-spare one's family the publicity, the scandal?  And
-because my family was going to be your family--for
-May's sake and for yours--I did what you told me,
-what you proved to me that I ought to do.  Ah," she
-broke out with a sudden laugh, "I've made no secret of
-having done it for you!"
-
-She sank down on the sofa again, crouching among
-the festive ripples of her dress like a stricken masquerader;
-and the young man stood by the fireplace and
-continued to gaze at her without moving.
-
-"Good God," he groaned.  "When I thought--"
-
-"You thought?"
-
-"Ah, don't ask me what I thought!"
-
-Still looking at her, he saw the same burning flush
-creep up her neck to her face.  She sat upright, facing
-him with a rigid dignity.
-
-"I do ask you."
-
-"Well, then: there were things in that letter you
-asked me to read--"
-
-"My husband's letter?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"I had nothing to fear from that letter: absolutely
-nothing!  All I feared was to bring notoriety, scandal,
-on the family--on you and May."
-
-"Good God," he groaned again, bowing his face in
-his hands.
-
-The silence that followed lay on them with the weight
-of things final and irrevocable.  It seemed to Archer to
-be crushing him down like his own grave-stone; in all
-the wide future he saw nothing that would ever lift that
-load from his heart.  He did not move from his place, or
-raise his head from his hands; his hidden eyeballs went
-on staring into utter darkness.
-
-"At least I loved you--" he brought out.
-
-On the other side of the hearth, from the sofa-corner
-where he supposed that she still crouched, he heard a
-faint stifled crying like a child's.  He started up and
-came to her side.
-
-"Ellen!  What madness!  Why are you crying?  Nothing's
-done that can't be undone.  I'm still free, and
-you're going to be."  He had her in his arms, her face
-like a wet flower at his lips, and all their vain terrors
-shrivelling up like ghosts at sunrise.  The one thing that
-astonished him now was that he should have stood for
-five minutes arguing with her across the width of the
-room, when just touching her made everything so simple.
-
-She gave him back all his kiss, but after a moment he
-felt her stiffening in his arms, and she put him aside
-and stood up.
-
-"Ah, my poor Newland--I suppose this had to be.
-But it doesn't in the least alter things," she said, looking
-down at him in her turn from the hearth.
-
-"It alters the whole of life for me."
-
-"No, no--it mustn't, it can't.  You're engaged to
-May Welland; and I'm married."
-
-He stood up too, flushed and resolute.  "Nonsense!
-It's too late for that sort of thing.  We've no right to lie
-to other people or to ourselves.  We won't talk of your
-marriage; but do you see me marrying May after this?"
-
-She stood silent, resting her thin elbows on the mantelpiece,
-her profile reflected in the glass behind her.  One
-of the locks of her chignon had become loosened and
-hung on her neck; she looked haggard and almost old.
-
-"I don't see you," she said at length, "putting that
-question to May.  Do you?"
-
-He gave a reckless shrug.  "It's too late to do
-anything else."
-
-"You say that because it's the easiest thing to say at
-this moment--not because it's true.  In reality it's too
-late to do anything but what we'd both decided on."
-
-"Ah, I don't understand you!"
-
-She forced a pitiful smile that pinched her face
-instead of smoothing it.  "You don't understand because
-you haven't yet guessed how you've changed things for
-me: oh, from the first--long before I knew all you'd
-done."
-
-"All I'd done?"
-
-"Yes.  I was perfectly unconscious at first that people
-here were shy of me--that they thought I was a dreadful
-sort of person.  It seems they had even refused to
-meet me at dinner.  I found that out afterward; and
-how you'd made your mother go with you to the van
-der Luydens'; and how you'd insisted on announcing
-your engagement at the Beaufort ball, so that I might
-have two families to stand by me instead of one--"
-
-At that he broke into a laugh.
-
-"Just imagine," she said, "how stupid and unobservant
-I was!  I knew nothing of all this till Granny
-blurted it out one day.  New York simply meant peace
-and freedom to me: it was coming home.  And I was so
-happy at being among my own people that every one I
-met seemed kind and good, and glad to see me.  But
-from the very beginning," she continued, "I felt there
-was no one as kind as you; no one who gave me
-reasons that I understood for doing what at first seemed
-so hard and--unnecessary.  The very good people didn't
-convince me; I felt they'd never been tempted.  But you
-knew; you understood; you had felt the world outside
-tugging at one with all its golden hands--and yet you
-hated the things it asks of one; you hated happiness
-bought by disloyalty and cruelty and indifference.  That
-was what I'd never known before--and it's better than
-anything I've known."
-
-She spoke in a low even voice, without tears or
-visible agitation; and each word, as it dropped from
-her, fell into his breast like burning lead.  He sat bowed
-over, his head between his hands, staring at the hearthrug,
-and at the tip of the satin shoe that showed under
-her dress.  Suddenly he knelt down and kissed the shoe.
-
-She bent over him, laying her hands on his shoulders,
-and looking at him with eyes so deep that he remained
-motionless under her gaze.
-
-"Ah, don't let us undo what you've done!" she cried.
-"I can't go back now to that other way of thinking.  I
-can't love you unless I give you up."
-
-His arms were yearning up to her; but she drew
-away, and they remained facing each other, divided by
-the distance that her words had created.  Then, abruptly,
-his anger overflowed.
-
-"And Beaufort?  Is he to replace me?"
-
-As the words sprang out he was prepared for an
-answering flare of anger; and he would have welcomed
-it as fuel for his own.  But Madame Olenska only grew
-a shade paler, and stood with her arms hanging down
-before her, and her head slightly bent, as her way was
-when she pondered a question.
-
-"He's waiting for you now at Mrs. Struthers's; why
-don't you go to him?" Archer sneered.
-
-She turned to ring the bell.  "I shall not go out this
-evening; tell the carriage to go and fetch the Signora
-Marchesa," she said when the maid came.
-
-After the door had closed again Archer continued to
-look at her with bitter eyes.  "Why this sacrifice?  Since
-you tell me that you're lonely I've no right to keep you
-from your friends."
-
-She smiled a little under her wet lashes.  "I shan't be
-lonely now.  I WAS lonely; I WAS afraid.  But the emptiness
-and the darkness are gone; when I turn back into
-myself now I'm like a child going at night into a room
-where there's always a light."
-
-Her tone and her look still enveloped her in a soft
-inaccessibility, and Archer groaned out again:  "I don't
-understand you!"
-
-"Yet you understand May!"
-
-He reddened under the retort, but kept his eyes on
-her.  "May is ready to give me up."
-
-"What!  Three days after you've entreated her on
-your knees to hasten your marriage?"
-
-"She's refused; that gives me the right--"
-
-"Ah, you've taught me what an ugly word that is,"
-she said.
-
-He turned away with a sense of utter weariness.  He
-felt as though he had been struggling for hours up the
-face of a steep precipice, and now, just as he had
-fought his way to the top, his hold had given way and
-he was pitching down headlong into darkness.
-
-If he could have got her in his arms again he might
-have swept away her arguments; but she still held him
-at a distance by something inscrutably aloof in her look
-and attitude, and by his own awed sense of her sincerity.
-At length he began to plead again.
-
-"If we do this now it will be worse afterward--worse
-for every one--"
-
-"No--no--no!" she almost screamed, as if he frightened her.
-
-At that moment the bell sent a long tinkle through
-the house.  They had heard no carriage stopping at the
-door, and they stood motionless, looking at each other
-with startled eyes.
-
-Outside, Nastasia's step crossed the hall, the outer
-door opened, and a moment later she came in carrying
-a telegram which she handed to the Countess Olenska.
-
-"The lady was very happy at the flowers," Nastasia
-said, smoothing her apron.  "She thought it was her
-signor marito who had sent them, and she cried a little
-and said it was a folly."
-
-Her mistress smiled and took the yellow envelope.
-She tore it open and carried it to the lamp; then, when
-the door had closed again, she handed the telegram to
-Archer.
-
-It was dated from St. Augustine, and addressed to
-the Countess Olenska.  In it he read:  "Granny's telegram
-successful.  Papa and Mamma agree marriage after
-Easter.  Am telegraphing Newland.  Am too happy
-for words and love you dearly.  Your grateful May."
-
-
-Half an hour later, when Archer unlocked his own
-front-door, he found a similar envelope on the hall-table
-on top of his pile of notes and letters.  The message
-inside the envelope was also from May Welland, and
-ran as follows:  "Parents consent wedding Tuesday after
-Easter at twelve Grace Church eight bridesmaids
-please see Rector so happy love May."
-
-Archer crumpled up the yellow sheet as if the gesture
-could annihilate the news it contained.  Then he pulled
-out a small pocket-diary and turned over the pages
-with trembling fingers; but he did not find what he
-wanted, and cramming the telegram into his pocket he
-mounted the stairs.
-
-A light was shining through the door of the little
-hall-room which served Janey as a dressing-room and
-boudoir, and her brother rapped impatiently on the
-panel.  The door opened, and his sister stood before
-him in her immemorial purple flannel dressing-gown,
-with her hair "on pins."  Her face looked pale and
-apprehensive.
-
-"Newland!  I hope there's no bad news in that
-telegram?  I waited on purpose, in case--"  (No item of his
-correspondence was safe from Janey.)
-
-He took no notice of her question.  "Look here--
-what day is Easter this year?"
-
-She looked shocked at such unchristian ignorance.
-"Easter?  Newland!  Why, of course, the first week in
-April.  Why?"
-
-"The first week?"  He turned again to the pages of
-his diary, calculating rapidly under his breath.  "The
-first week, did you say?"  He threw back his head with
-a long laugh.
-
-"For mercy's sake what's the matter?"
-
-"Nothing's the matter, except that I'm going to be
-married in a month."
-
-Janey fell upon his neck and pressed him to her
-purple flannel breast.  "Oh Newland, how wonderful!
-I'm so glad!  But, dearest, why do you keep on laughing?
-Do hush, or you'll wake Mamma."
-
-
-
-
-Book II
-
-
-
-XIX.
-
-The day was fresh, with a lively spring wind full of
-dust.  All the old ladies in both families had got out
-their faded sables and yellowing ermines, and the smell
-of camphor from the front pews almost smothered the
-faint spring scent of the lilies banking the altar.
-
-Newland Archer, at a signal from the sexton, had
-come out of the vestry and placed himself with his best
-man on the chancel step of Grace Church.
-
-The signal meant that the brougham bearing the
-bride and her father was in sight; but there was sure to
-be a considerable interval of adjustment and consultation
-in the lobby, where the bridesmaids were already
-hovering like a cluster of Easter blossoms.  During this
-unavoidable lapse of time the bridegroom, in proof of
-his eagerness, was expected to expose himself alone to
-the gaze of the assembled company; and Archer had
-gone through this formality as resignedly as through all
-the others which made of a nineteenth century New
-York wedding a rite that seemed to belong to the dawn
-of history.  Everything was equally easy--or equally
-painful, as one chose to put it--in the path he was
-committed to tread, and he had obeyed the flurried
-injunctions of his best man as piously as other bridegrooms
-had obeyed his own, in the days when he had
-guided them through the same labyrinth.
-
-So far he was reasonably sure of having fulfilled all
-his obligations.  The bridesmaids' eight bouquets of white
-lilac and lilies-of-the-valley had been sent in due time,
-as well as the gold and sapphire sleeve-links of the
-eight ushers and the best man's cat's-eye scarf-pin;
-Archer had sat up half the night trying to vary the
-wording of his thanks for the last batch of presents
-from men friends and ex-lady-loves; the fees for the
-Bishop and the Rector were safely in the pocket of his
-best man; his own luggage was already at Mrs. Manson
-Mingott's, where the wedding-breakfast was to
-take place, and so were the travelling clothes into which
-he was to change; and a private compartment had been
-engaged in the train that was to carry the young couple
-to their unknown destination--concealment of the spot
-in which the bridal night was to be spent being one of
-the most sacred taboos of the prehistoric ritual.
-
-"Got the ring all right?" whispered young van der
-Luyden Newland, who was inexperienced in the duties
-of a best man, and awed by the weight of his responsibility.
-
-Archer made the gesture which he had seen so many
-bridegrooms make: with his ungloved right hand he
-felt in the pocket of his dark grey waistcoat, and assured
-himself that the little gold circlet (engraved
-inside: Newland to May, April ---, 187-) was in its
-place; then, resuming his former attitude, his tall hat
-and pearl-grey gloves with black stitchings grasped in
-his left hand, he stood looking at the door of the
-church.
-
-Overhead, Handel's March swelled pompously through
-the imitation stone vaulting, carrying on its waves the
-faded drift of the many weddings at which, with cheerful
-indifference, he had stood on the same chancel step
-watching other brides float up the nave toward other
-bridegrooms.
-
-"How like a first night at the Opera!" he thought,
-recognising all the same faces in the same boxes (no,
-pews), and wondering if, when the Last Trump sounded,
-Mrs. Selfridge Merry would be there with the same
-towering ostrich feathers in her bonnet, and Mrs. Beaufort
-with the same diamond earrings and the same
-smile--and whether suitable proscenium seats were
-already prepared for them in another world.
-
-After that there was still time to review, one by one,
-the familiar countenances in the first rows; the women's
-sharp with curiosity and excitement, the men's
-sulky with the obligation of having to put on their
-frock-coats before luncheon, and fight for food at the
-wedding-breakfast.
-
-"Too bad the breakfast is at old Catherine's," the
-bridegroom could fancy Reggie Chivers saying.  "But
-I'm told that Lovell Mingott insisted on its being cooked
-by his own chef, so it ought to be good if one can only
-get at it."  And he could imagine Sillerton Jackson
-adding with authority:  "My dear fellow, haven't you
-heard?  It's to be served at small tables, in the new
-English fashion."
-
-Archer's eyes lingered a moment on the left-hand
-pew, where his mother, who had entered the church on
-Mr. Henry van der Luyden's arm, sat weeping softly
-under her Chantilly veil, her hands in her grandmother's
-ermine muff.
-
-"Poor Janey!" he thought, looking at his sister, "even
-by screwing her head around she can see only the
-people in the few front pews; and they're mostly dowdy
-Newlands and Dagonets."
-
-On the hither side of the white ribbon dividing off
-the seats reserved for the families he saw Beaufort, tall
-and redfaced, scrutinising the women with his arrogant
-stare.  Beside him sat his wife, all silvery chinchilla and
-violets; and on the far side of the ribbon, Lawrence
-Lefferts's sleekly brushed head seemed to mount guard
-over the invisible deity of "Good Form" who presided
-at the ceremony.
-
-Archer wondered how many flaws Lefferts's keen
-eyes would discover in the ritual of his divinity; then he
-suddenly recalled that he too had once thought such
-questions important.  The things that had filled his days
-seemed now like a nursery parody of life, or like the
-wrangles of mediaeval schoolmen over metaphysical terms
-that nobody had ever understood.  A stormy discussion
-as to whether the wedding presents should be "shown"
-had darkened the last hours before the wedding; and it
-seemed inconceivable to Archer that grown-up people
-should work themselves into a state of agitation over
-such trifles, and that the matter should have been decided
-(in the negative) by Mrs. Welland's saying, with
-indignant tears:  "I should as soon turn the reporters
-loose in my house."  Yet there was a time when Archer
-had had definite and rather aggressive opinions on all
-such problems, and when everything concerning the
-manners and customs of his little tribe had seemed to
-him fraught with world-wide significance.
-
-"And all the while, I suppose," he thought, "real
-people were living somewhere, and real things happening
-to them . . ."
-
-"THERE THEY COME!" breathed the best man excitedly;
-but the bridegroom knew better.
-
-The cautious opening of the door of the church
-meant only that Mr. Brown the livery-stable keeper
-(gowned in black in his intermittent character of sexton)
-was taking a preliminary survey of the scene before
-marshalling his forces.  The door was softly shut
-again; then after another interval it swung majestically
-open, and a murmur ran through the church:  "The
-family!"
-
-Mrs. Welland came first, on the arm of her eldest
-son.  Her large pink face was appropriately solemn, and
-her plum-coloured satin with pale blue side-panels, and
-blue ostrich plumes in a small satin bonnet, met with
-general approval; but before she had settled herself
-with a stately rustle in the pew opposite Mrs. Archer's
-the spectators were craning their necks to see who was
-coming after her.  Wild rumours had been abroad the
-day before to the effect that Mrs. Manson Mingott, in
-spite of her physical disabilities, had resolved on being
-present at the ceremony; and the idea was so much in
-keeping with her sporting character that bets ran high
-at the clubs as to her being able to walk up the nave
-and squeeze into a seat.  It was known that she had
-insisted on sending her own carpenter to look into the
-possibility of taking down the end panel of the front
-pew, and to measure the space between the seat and
-the front; but the result had been discouraging, and for
-one anxious day her family had watched her dallying
-with the plan of being wheeled up the nave in her
-enormous Bath chair and sitting enthroned in it at the
-foot of the chancel.
-
-The idea of this monstrous exposure of her person
-was so painful to her relations that they could have
-covered with gold the ingenious person who suddenly
-discovered that the chair was too wide to pass between
-the iron uprights of the awning which extended from
-the church door to the curbstone.  The idea of doing
-away with this awning, and revealing the bride to the
-mob of dressmakers and newspaper reporters who stood
-outside fighting to get near the joints of the canvas,
-exceeded even old Catherine's courage, though for a
-moment she had weighed the possibility.  "Why, they
-might take a photograph of my child AND PUT IT IN THE
-PAPERS!" Mrs. Welland exclaimed when her mother's
-last plan was hinted to her; and from this unthinkable
-indecency the clan recoiled with a collective shudder.
-The ancestress had had to give in; but her concession
-was bought only by the promise that the wedding-
-breakfast should take place under her roof, though (as
-the Washington Square connection said) with the
-Wellands' house in easy reach it was hard to have to make
-a special price with Brown to drive one to the other
-end of nowhere.
-
-Though all these transactions had been widely
-reported by the Jacksons a sporting minority still clung
-to the belief that old Catherine would appear in church,
-and there was a distinct lowering of the temperature
-when she was found to have been replaced by her
-daughter-in-law.  Mrs. Lovell Mingott had the high colour
-and glassy stare induced in ladies of her age and
-habit by the effort of getting into a new dress; but once
-the disappointment occasioned by her mother-in-law's
-non-appearance had subsided, it was agreed that her
-black Chantilly over lilac satin, with a bonnet of Parma
-violets, formed the happiest contrast to Mrs. Welland's
-blue and plum-colour.  Far different was the impression
-produced by the gaunt and mincing lady who followed
-on Mr. Mingott's arm, in a wild dishevelment of stripes
-and fringes and floating scarves; and as this last apparition
-glided into view Archer's heart contracted and
-stopped beating.
-
-He had taken it for granted that the Marchioness
-Manson was still in Washington, where she had gone
-some four weeks previously with her niece, Madame
-Olenska.  It was generally understood that their abrupt
-departure was due to Madame Olenska's desire to remove
-her aunt from the baleful eloquence of Dr. Agathon
-Carver, who had nearly succeeded in enlisting her as a
-recruit for the Valley of Love; and in the circumstances
-no one had expected either of the ladies to return for
-the wedding.  For a moment Archer stood with his eyes
-fixed on Medora's fantastic figure, straining to see who
-came behind her; but the little procession was at an
-end, for all the lesser members of the family had taken
-their seats, and the eight tall ushers, gathering themselves
-together like birds or insects preparing for some
-migratory manoeuvre, were already slipping through
-the side doors into the lobby.
-
-"Newland--I say: SHE'S HERE!" the best man whispered.
-
-Archer roused himself with a start.
-
-A long time had apparently passed since his heart
-had stopped beating, for the white and rosy procession
-was in fact half way up the nave, the Bishop, the
-Rector and two white-winged assistants were hovering
-about the flower-banked altar, and the first chords of
-the Spohr symphony were strewing their flower-like
-notes before the bride.
-
-Archer opened his eyes (but could they really have
-been shut, as he imagined?), and felt his heart beginning
-to resume its usual task.  The music, the scent of
-the lilies on the altar, the vision of the cloud of tulle
-and orange-blossoms floating nearer and nearer, the
-sight of Mrs. Archer's face suddenly convulsed with
-happy sobs, the low benedictory murmur of the Rector's
-voice, the ordered evolutions of the eight pink
-bridesmaids and the eight black ushers: all these sights,
-sounds and sensations, so familiar in themselves, so
-unutterably strange and meaningless in his new relation
-to them, were confusedly mingled in his brain.
-
-"My God," he thought, "HAVE I got the ring?"--and
-once more he went through the bridegroom's convulsive
-gesture.
-
-Then, in a moment, May was beside him, such radiance
-streaming from her that it sent a faint warmth
-through his numbness, and he straightened himself and
-smiled into her eyes.
-
-"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here," the
-Rector began . . .
-
-The ring was on her hand, the Bishop's benediction
-had been given, the bridesmaids were a-poise to resume
-their place in the procession, and the organ was showing
-preliminary symptoms of breaking out into the
-Mendelssohn March, without which no newly-wedded
-couple had ever emerged upon New York.
-
-"Your arm--I SAY, GIVE HER YOUR ARM!" young
-Newland nervously hissed; and once more Archer became
-aware of having been adrift far off in the unknown.
-What was it that had sent him there, he
-wondered?  Perhaps the glimpse, among the anonymous
-spectators in the transept, of a dark coil of hair under a
-hat which, a moment later, revealed itself as belonging
-to an unknown lady with a long nose, so laughably unlike
-the person whose image she had evoked that he asked
-himself if he were becoming subject to hallucinations.
-
-And now he and his wife were pacing slowly down
-the nave, carried forward on the light Mendelssohn
-ripples, the spring day beckoning to them through widely
-opened doors, and Mrs. Welland's chestnuts, with big
-white favours on their frontlets, curvetting and showing
-off at the far end of the canvas tunnel.
-
-The footman, who had a still bigger white favour on
-his lapel, wrapped May's white cloak about her, and
-Archer jumped into the brougham at her side.  She
-turned to him with a triumphant smile and their hands
-clasped under her veil.
-
-"Darling!" Archer said--and suddenly the same black
-abyss yawned before him and he felt himself sinking
-into it, deeper and deeper, while his voice rambled on
-smoothly and cheerfully:  "Yes, of course I thought I'd
-lost the ring; no wedding would be complete if the
-poor devil of a bridegroom didn't go through that.  But
-you DID keep me waiting, you know!  I had time to
-think of every horror that might possibly happen."
-
-She surprised him by turning, in full Fifth Avenue,
-and flinging her arms about his neck.  "But none ever
-CAN happen now, can it, Newland, as long as we two
-are together?"
-
-
-Every detail of the day had been so carefully thought
-out that the young couple, after the wedding-breakfast,
-had ample time to put on their travelling-clothes,
-descend the wide Mingott stairs between laughing bridesmaids
-and weeping parents, and get into the brougham
-under the traditional shower of rice and satin slippers;
-and there was still half an hour left in which to drive to
-the station, buy the last weeklies at the bookstall with
-the air of seasoned travellers, and settle themselves in
-the reserved compartment in which May's maid had
-already placed her dove-coloured travelling cloak and
-glaringly new dressing-bag from London.
-
-The old du Lac aunts at Rhinebeck had put their
-house at the disposal of the bridal couple, with a readiness
-inspired by the prospect of spending a week in
-New York with Mrs. Archer; and Archer, glad to escape
-the usual "bridal suite" in a Philadelphia or Baltimore
-hotel, had accepted with an equal alacrity.
-
-May was enchanted at the idea of going to the country,
-and childishly amused at the vain efforts of the
-eight bridesmaids to discover where their mysterious
-retreat was situated.  It was thought "very English" to
-have a country-house lent to one, and the fact gave a
-last touch of distinction to what was generally
-conceded to be the most brilliant wedding of the year; but
-where the house was no one was permitted to know,
-except the parents of bride and groom, who, when
-taxed with the knowledge, pursed their lips and said
-mysteriously:  "Ah, they didn't tell us--" which was
-manifestly true, since there was no need to.
-
-Once they were settled in their compartment, and the
-train, shaking off the endless wooden suburbs, had
-pushed out into the pale landscape of spring, talk
-became easier than Archer had expected.  May was still,
-in look and tone, the simple girl of yesterday, eager to
-compare notes with him as to the incidents of the
-wedding, and discussing them as impartially as a bridesmaid
-talking it all over with an usher.  At first Archer
-had fancied that this detachment was the disguise of an
-inward tremor; but her clear eyes revealed only the
-most tranquil unawareness.  She was alone for the first
-time with her husband; but her husband was only the
-charming comrade of yesterday.  There was no one
-whom she liked as much, no one whom she trusted as
-completely, and the culminating "lark" of the whole
-delightful adventure of engagement and marriage was
-to be off with him alone on a journey, like a grownup
-person, like a "married woman," in fact.
-
-It was wonderful that--as he had learned in the
-Mission garden at St. Augustine--such depths of feeling
-could coexist with such absence of imagination.  But
-he remembered how, even then, she had surprised him
-by dropping back to inexpressive girlishness as soon as
-her conscience had been eased of its burden; and he
-saw that she would probably go through life dealing to
-the best of her ability with each experience as it came,
-but never anticipating any by so much as a stolen
-glance.
-
-Perhaps that faculty of unawareness was what gave
-her eyes their transparency, and her face the look of
-representing a type rather than a person; as if she
-might have been chosen to pose for a Civic Virtue or a
-Greek goddess.  The blood that ran so close to her fair
-skin might have been a preserving fluid rather than a
-ravaging element; yet her look of indestructible
-youthfulness made her seem neither hard nor dull, but only
-primitive and pure.  In the thick of this meditation
-Archer suddenly felt himself looking at her with the
-startled gaze of a stranger, and plunged into a reminiscence
-of the wedding-breakfast and of Granny Mingott's
-immense and triumphant pervasion of it.
-
-May settled down to frank enjoyment of the subject.
-"I was surprised, though--weren't you?--that aunt
-Medora came after all.  Ellen wrote that they were
-neither of them well enough to take the journey; I do
-wish it had been she who had recovered!  Did you see
-the exquisite old lace she sent me?"
-
-He had known that the moment must come sooner
-or later, but he had somewhat imagined that by force
-of willing he might hold it at bay.
-
-"Yes--I--no: yes, it was beautiful," he said, looking
-at her blindly, and wondering if, whenever he heard
-those two syllables, all his carefully built-up world
-would tumble about him like a house of cards.
-
-"Aren't you tired?  It will be good to have some tea
-when we arrive--I'm sure the aunts have got everything
-beautifully ready," he rattled on, taking her hand
-in his; and her mind rushed away instantly to the
-magnificent tea and coffee service of Baltimore silver
-which the Beauforts had sent, and which "went" so
-perfectly with uncle Lovell Mingott's trays and side-dishes.
-
-In the spring twilight the train stopped at the
-Rhinebeck station, and they walked along the platform
-to the waiting carriage.
-
-"Ah, how awfully kind of the van der Luydens--
-they've sent their man over from Skuytercliff to meet
-us," Archer exclaimed, as a sedate person out of livery
-approached them and relieved the maid of her bags.
-
-"I'm extremely sorry, sir," said this emissary, "that a
-little accident has occurred at the Miss du Lacs': a leak
-in the water-tank.  It happened yesterday, and Mr. van
-der Luyden, who heard of it this morning, sent a housemaid
-up by the early train to get the Patroon's house
-ready.  It will be quite comfortable, I think you'll find,
-sir; and the Miss du Lacs have sent their cook over, so
-that it will be exactly the same as if you'd been at
-Rhinebeck."
-
-Archer stared at the speaker so blankly that he
-repeated in still more apologetic accents:  "It'll be exactly
-the same, sir, I do assure you--" and May's eager voice
-broke out, covering the embarrassed silence:  "The same
-as Rhinebeck?  The Patroon's house?  But it will be a
-hundred thousand times better--won't it, Newland?
-It's too dear and kind of Mr. van der Luyden to have
-thought of it."
-
-And as they drove off, with the maid beside the
-coachman, and their shining bridal bags on the seat
-before them, she went on excitedly:  "Only fancy, I've
-never been inside it--have you?  The van der Luydens
-show it to so few people.  But they opened it for Ellen,
-it seems, and she told me what a darling little place it
-was: she says it's the only house she's seen in America
-that she could imagine being perfectly happy in."
-
-"Well--that's what we're going to be, isn't it?" cried
-her husband gaily; and she answered with her boyish
-smile:  "Ah, it's just our luck beginning--the wonderful
-luck we're always going to have together!"
-
-
-
-XX.
-
-"Of course we must dine with Mrs. Carfry, dearest,"
-Archer said; and his wife looked at him with an
-anxious frown across the monumental Britannia ware of
-their lodging house breakfast-table.
-
-In all the rainy desert of autumnal London there
-were only two people whom the Newland Archers
-knew; and these two they had sedulously avoided, in
-conformity with the old New York tradition that it was
-not "dignified" to force one's self on the notice of one's
-acquaintances in foreign countries.
-
-Mrs. Archer and Janey, in the course of their visits to
-Europe, had so unflinchingly lived up to this principle,
-and met the friendly advances of their fellow-travellers
-with an air of such impenetrable reserve, that they had
-almost achieved the record of never having exchanged
-a word with a "foreigner" other than those employed
-in hotels and railway-stations.  Their own compatriots--
-save those previously known or properly accredited--
-they treated with an even more pronounced disdain; so
-that, unless they ran across a Chivers, a Dagonet or a
-Mingott, their months abroad were spent in an unbroken
-tete-a-tete.  But the utmost precautions are sometimes
-unavailing; and one night at Botzen one of the
-two English ladies in the room across the passage (whose
-names, dress and social situation were already intimately
-known to Janey) had knocked on the door and
-asked if Mrs. Archer had a bottle of liniment.  The
-other lady--the intruder's sister, Mrs. Carfry--had been
-seized with a sudden attack of bronchitis; and Mrs.
-Archer, who never travelled without a complete family
-pharmacy, was fortunately able to produce the required
-remedy.
-
-Mrs. Carfry was very ill, and as she and her sister
-Miss Harle were travelling alone they were profoundly
-grateful to the Archer ladies, who supplied them with
-ingenious comforts and whose efficient maid helped to
-nurse the invalid back to health.
-
-When the Archers left Botzen they had no idea of
-ever seeing Mrs. Carfry and Miss Harle again.  Nothing,
-to Mrs. Archer's mind, would have been more
-"undignified" than to force one's self on the notice of a
-"foreigner" to whom one had happened to render an
-accidental service.  But Mrs. Carfry and her sister, to
-whom this point of view was unknown, and who would
-have found it utterly incomprehensible, felt themselves
-linked by an eternal gratitude to the "delightful Americans"
-who had been so kind at Botzen.  With touching
-fidelity they seized every chance of meeting Mrs. Archer
-and Janey in the course of their continental travels, and
-displayed a supernatural acuteness in finding out when
-they were to pass through London on their way to or
-from the States.  The intimacy became indissoluble, and
-Mrs. Archer and Janey, whenever they alighted at
-Brown's Hotel, found themselves awaited by two affectionate
-friends who, like themselves, cultivated ferns in
-Wardian cases, made macrame lace, read the memoirs
-of the Baroness Bunsen and had views about the
-occupants of the leading London pulpits.  As Mrs. Archer
-said, it made "another thing of London" to know Mrs.
-Carfry and Miss Harle; and by the time that Newland
-became engaged the tie between the families was so
-firmly established that it was thought "only right" to
-send a wedding invitation to the two English ladies,
-who sent, in return, a pretty bouquet of pressed Alpine
-flowers under glass.  And on the dock, when Newland
-and his wife sailed for England, Mrs. Archer's last
-word had been:  "You must take May to see Mrs.
-Carfry."
-
-Newland and his wife had had no idea of obeying
-this injunction; but Mrs. Carfry, with her usual acuteness,
-had run them down and sent them an invitation
-to dine; and it was over this invitation that May Archer
-was wrinkling her brows across the tea and muffins.
-
-"It's all very well for you, Newland; you KNOW them.
-But I shall feel so shy among a lot of people I've never
-met.  And what shall I wear?"
-
-Newland leaned back in his chair and smiled at her.
-She looked handsomer and more Diana-like than ever.
-The moist English air seemed to have deepened the
-bloom of her cheeks and softened the slight hardness of
-her virginal features; or else it was simply the inner
-glow of happiness, shining through like a light under
-ice.
-
-"Wear, dearest?  I thought a trunkful of things had
-come from Paris last week."
-
-"Yes, of course.  I meant to say that I shan't know
-WHICH to wear."  She pouted a little.  "I've never dined
-out in London; and I don't want to be ridiculous."
-
-He tried to enter into her perplexity.  "But don't
-Englishwomen dress just like everybody else in the
-evening?"
-
-"Newland!  How can you ask such funny questions?
-When they go to the theatre in old ball-dresses and
-bare heads."
-
-"Well, perhaps they wear new ball-dresses at home;
-but at any rate Mrs. Carfry and Miss Harle won't.
-They'll wear caps like my mother's--and shawls; very
-soft shawls."
-
-"Yes; but how will the other women be dressed?"
-
-"Not as well as you, dear," he rejoined, wondering
-what had suddenly developed in her Janey's morbid
-interest in clothes.
-
-She pushed back her chair with a sigh.  "That's dear
-of you, Newland; but it doesn't help me much."
-
-He had an inspiration.  "Why not wear your wedding-
-dress?  That can't be wrong, can it?"
-
-"Oh, dearest!  If I only had it here!  But it's gone to
-Paris to be made over for next winter, and Worth
-hasn't sent it back."
-
-"Oh, well--" said Archer, getting up.  "Look here--
-the fog's lifting.  If we made a dash for the National
-Gallery we might manage to catch a glimpse of the
-pictures."
-
-
-The Newland Archers were on their way home, after
-a three months' wedding-tour which May, in writing to
-her girl friends, vaguely summarised as "blissful."
-
-They had not gone to the Italian Lakes: on reflection,
-Archer had not been able to picture his wife in
-that particular setting.  Her own inclination (after a
-month with the Paris dressmakers) was for mountaineering
-in July and swimming in August.  This plan they
-punctually fulfilled, spending July at Interlaken and
-Grindelwald, and August at a little place called Etretat,
-on the Normandy coast, which some one had recommended
-as quaint and quiet.  Once or twice, in the
-mountains, Archer had pointed southward and said:
-"There's Italy"; and May, her feet in a gentian-bed,
-had smiled cheerfully, and replied:  "It would be lovely
-to go there next winter, if only you didn't have to be in
-New York."
-
-But in reality travelling interested her even less than
-he had expected.  She regarded it (once her clothes were
-ordered) as merely an enlarged opportunity for walking,
-riding, swimming, and trying her hand at the fascinating
-new game of lawn tennis; and when they finally
-got back to London (where they were to spend a fortnight
-while he ordered HIS clothes) she no longer concealed
-the eagerness with which she looked forward to
-sailing.
-
-In London nothing interested her but the theatres
-and the shops; and she found the theatres less exciting
-than the Paris cafes chantants where, under the blossoming
-horse-chestnuts of the Champs Elysees, she had
-had the novel experience of looking down from the
-restaurant terrace on an audience of "cocottes," and
-having her husband interpret to her as much of the
-songs as he thought suitable for bridal ears.
-
-Archer had reverted to all his old inherited ideas
-about marriage.  It was less trouble to conform with the
-tradition and treat May exactly as all his friends treated
-their wives than to try to put into practice the theories
-with which his untrammelled bachelorhood had dallied.
-There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife
-who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free;
-and he had long since discovered that May's only use
-of the liberty she supposed herself to possess would be
-to lay it on the altar of her wifely adoration.  Her innate
-dignity would always keep her from making the gift
-abjectly; and a day might even come (as it once had)
-when she would find strength to take it altogether back
-if she thought she were doing it for his own good.  But
-with a conception of marriage so uncomplicated and
-incurious as hers such a crisis could be brought about
-only by something visibly outrageous in his own conduct;
-and the fineness of her feeling for him made that
-unthinkable.  Whatever happened, he knew, she would
-always be loyal, gallant and unresentful; and that pledged
-him to the practice of the same virtues.
-
-All this tended to draw him back into his old habits
-of mind.  If her simplicity had been the simplicity of
-pettiness he would have chafed and rebelled; but since
-the lines of her character, though so few, were on the
-same fine mould as her face, she became the tutelary
-divinity of all his old traditions and reverences.
-
-Such qualities were scarcely of the kind to enliven
-foreign travel, though they made her so easy and pleasant
-a companion; but he saw at once how they would
-fall into place in their proper setting.  He had no fear of
-being oppressed by them, for his artistic and intellectual
-life would go on, as it always had, outside the
-domestic circle; and within it there would be nothing
-small and stifling--coming back to his wife would never
-be like entering a stuffy room after a tramp in the
-open.  And when they had children the vacant corners
-in both their lives would be filled.
-
-All these things went through his mind during their
-long slow drive from Mayfair to South Kensington,
-where Mrs. Carfry and her sister lived.  Archer too
-would have preferred to escape their friends' hospitality:
-in conformity with the family tradition he had
-always travelled as a sight-seer and looker-on, affecting
-a haughty unconsciousness of the presence of his fellow-
-beings.  Once only, just after Harvard, he had spent a
-few gay weeks at Florence with a band of queer
-Europeanised Americans, dancing all night with titled
-ladies in palaces, and gambling half the day with the
-rakes and dandies of the fashionable club; but it had all
-seemed to him, though the greatest fun in the world, as
-unreal as a carnival.  These queer cosmopolitan women,
-deep in complicated love-affairs which they appeared to
-feel the need of retailing to every one they met, and the
-magnificent young officers and elderly dyed wits who
-were the subjects or the recipients of their confidences,
-were too different from the people Archer had grown
-up among, too much like expensive and rather malodorous
-hot-house exotics, to detain his imagination
-long.  To introduce his wife into such a society was out
-of the question; and in the course of his travels no
-other had shown any marked eagerness for his company.
-
-Not long after their arrival in London he had run
-across the Duke of St. Austrey, and the Duke, instantly
-and cordially recognising him, had said:  "Look me up,
-won't you?"--but no proper-spirited American would
-have considered that a suggestion to be acted on, and
-the meeting was without a sequel.  They had even managed
-to avoid May's English aunt, the banker's wife,
-who was still in Yorkshire; in fact, they had purposely
-postponed going to London till the autumn in order
-that their arrival during the season might not appear
-pushing and snobbish to these unknown relatives.
-
-"Probably there'll be nobody at Mrs. Carfry's--London's
-a desert at this season, and you've made yourself
-much too beautiful," Archer said to May, who sat at
-his side in the hansom so spotlessly splendid in her
-sky-blue cloak edged with swansdown that it seemed
-wicked to expose her to the London grime.
-
-"I don't want them to think that we dress like
-savages," she replied, with a scorn that Pocahontas might
-have resented; and he was struck again by the religious
-reverence of even the most unworldly American women
-for the social advantages of dress.
-
-"It's their armour," he thought, "their defence against
-the unknown, and their defiance of it."  And he understood
-for the first time the earnestness with which
-May, who was incapable of tying a ribbon in her hair
-to charm him, had gone through the solemn rite of
-selecting and ordering her extensive wardrobe.
-
-He had been right in expecting the party at Mrs.
-Carfry's to be a small one.  Besides their hostess and her
-sister, they found, in the long chilly drawing-room,
-only another shawled lady, a genial Vicar who was her
-husband, a silent lad whom Mrs. Carfry named as her
-nephew, and a small dark gentleman with lively eyes
-whom she introduced as his tutor, pronouncing a French
-name as she did so.
-
-Into this dimly-lit and dim-featured group May Archer
-floated like a swan with the sunset on her: she seemed
-larger, fairer, more voluminously rustling than her
-husband had ever seen her; and he perceived that the
-rosiness and rustlingness were the tokens of an extreme
-and infantile shyness.
-
-"What on earth will they expect me to talk about?"
-her helpless eyes implored him, at the very moment
-that her dazzling apparition was calling forth the same
-anxiety in their own bosoms.  But beauty, even when
-distrustful of itself, awakens confidence in the manly
-heart; and the Vicar and the French-named tutor were
-soon manifesting to May their desire to put her at her
-ease.
-
-In spite of their best efforts, however, the dinner was
-a languishing affair.  Archer noticed that his wife's way
-of showing herself at her ease with foreigners was to
-become more uncompromisingly local in her references,
-so that, though her loveliness was an encouragement to
-admiration, her conversation was a chill to repartee.
-The Vicar soon abandoned the struggle; but the tutor,
-who spoke the most fluent and accomplished English,
-gallantly continued to pour it out to her until the
-ladies, to the manifest relief of all concerned, went up
-to the drawing-room.
-
-The Vicar, after a glass of port, was obliged to hurry
-away to a meeting, and the shy nephew, who appeared
-to be an invalid, was packed off to bed.  But Archer and
-the tutor continued to sit over their wine, and suddenly
-Archer found himself talking as he had not done since
-his last symposium with Ned Winsett.  The Carfry
-nephew, it turned out, had been threatened with
-consumption, and had had to leave Harrow for Switzerland,
-where he had spent two years in the milder air of
-Lake Leman.  Being a bookish youth, he had been
-entrusted to M. Riviere, who had brought him back to
-England, and was to remain with him till he went up to
-Oxford the following spring; and M. Riviere added
-with simplicity that he should then have to look out for
-another job.
-
-It seemed impossible, Archer thought, that he should
-be long without one, so varied were his interests and so
-many his gifts.  He was a man of about thirty, with a
-thin ugly face (May would certainly have called him
-common-looking) to which the play of his ideas gave
-an intense expressiveness; but there was nothing frivolous
-or cheap in his animation.
-
-His father, who had died young, had filled a small
-diplomatic post, and it had been intended that the son
-should follow the same career; but an insatiable taste
-for letters had thrown the young man into journalism,
-then into authorship (apparently unsuccessful), and at
-length--after other experiments and vicissitudes which
-he spared his listener--into tutoring English youths in
-Switzerland.  Before that, however, he had lived much
-in Paris, frequented the Goncourt grenier, been advised
-by Maupassant not to attempt to write (even that seemed
-to Archer a dazzling honour!), and had often talked
-with Merimee in his mother's house.  He had obviously
-always been desperately poor and anxious (having a
-mother and an unmarried sister to provide for), and it
-was apparent that his literary ambitions had failed.  His
-situation, in fact, seemed, materially speaking, no more
-brilliant than Ned Winsett's; but he had lived in a
-world in which, as he said, no one who loved ideas
-need hunger mentally.  As it was precisely of that love
-that poor Winsett was starving to death, Archer looked
-with a sort of vicarious envy at this eager impecunious
-young man who had fared so richly in his poverty.
-
-"You see, Monsieur, it's worth everything, isn't it, to
-keep one's intellectual liberty, not to enslave one's powers
-of appreciation, one's critical independence?  It was
-because of that that I abandoned journalism, and took
-to so much duller work: tutoring and private secretaryship.
-There is a good deal of drudgery, of course; but
-one preserves one's moral freedom, what we call in
-French one's quant a soi.  And when one hears good
-talk one can join in it without compromising any opinions
-but one's own; or one can listen, and answer it
-inwardly.  Ah, good conversation--there's nothing like
-it, is there?  The air of ideas is the only air worth
-breathing.  And so I have never regretted giving up
-either diplomacy or journalism--two different forms of
-the same self-abdication."  He fixed his vivid eyes on
-Archer as he lit another cigarette.  "Voyez-vous,
-Monsieur, to be able to look life in the face: that's worth
-living in a garret for, isn't it?  But, after all, one must
-earn enough to pay for the garret; and I confess that to
-grow old as a private tutor--or a `private' anything--is
-almost as chilling to the imagination as a second
-secretaryship at Bucharest.  Sometimes I feel I must make a
-plunge: an immense plunge.  Do you suppose, for instance,
-there would be any opening for me in America--
-in New York?"
-
-Archer looked at him with startled eyes.  New York,
-for a young man who had frequented the Goncourts
-and Flaubert, and who thought the life of ideas the
-only one worth living!  He continued to stare at M.
-Riviere perplexedly, wondering how to tell him that
-his very superiorities and advantages would be the
-surest hindrance to success.
-
-"New York--New York--but must it be especially
-New York?" he stammered, utterly unable to imagine
-what lucrative opening his native city could offer to a
-young man to whom good conversation appeared to be
-the only necessity.
-
-A sudden flush rose under M. Riviere's sallow skin.
-"I--I thought it your metropolis: is not the intellectual
-life more active there?" he rejoined; then, as if fearing
-to give his hearer the impression of having asked a
-favour, he went on hastily:  "One throws out random
-suggestions--more to one's self than to others.  In reality,
-I see no immediate prospect--" and rising from his
-seat he added, without a trace of constraint:  "But
-Mrs. Carfry will think that I ought to be taking you
-upstairs."
-
-During the homeward drive Archer pondered deeply
-on this episode.  His hour with M. Riviere had put
-new air into his lungs, and his first impulse had been to
-invite him to dine the next day; but he was beginning
-to understand why married men did not always immediately
-yield to their first impulses.
-
-"That young tutor is an interesting fellow: we had
-some awfully good talk after dinner about books and
-things," he threw out tentatively in the hansom.
-
-May roused herself from one of the dreamy silences
-into which he had read so many meanings before six
-months of marriage had given him the key to them.
-
-"The little Frenchman?  Wasn't he dreadfully
-common?" she questioned coldly; and he guessed that she
-nursed a secret disappointment at having been invited
-out in London to meet a clergyman and a French tutor.
-The disappointment was not occasioned by the sentiment
-ordinarily defined as snobbishness, but by old
-New York's sense of what was due to it when it risked
-its dignity in foreign lands.  If May's parents had
-entertained the Carfrys in Fifth Avenue they would have
-offered them something more substantial than a parson
-and a schoolmaster.
-
-But Archer was on edge, and took her up.
-
-"Common--common WHERE?" he queried; and she
-returned with unusual readiness:  "Why, I should say
-anywhere but in his school-room.  Those people are
-always awkward in society.  But then," she added
-disarmingly, "I suppose I shouldn't have known if he was
-clever."
-
-Archer disliked her use of the word "clever" almost
-as much as her use of the word "common"; but he was
-beginning to fear his tendency to dwell on the things he
-disliked in her.  After all, her point of view had always
-been the same.  It was that of all the people he had
-grown up among, and he had always regarded it as
-necessary but negligible.  Until a few months ago he had
-never known a "nice" woman who looked at life
-differently; and if a man married it must necessarily be
-among the nice.
-
-"Ah--then I won't ask him to dine!" he concluded
-with a laugh; and May echoed, bewildered:  "Goodness--
-ask the Carfrys' tutor?"
-
-"Well, not on the same day with the Carfrys, if you
-prefer I shouldn't.  But I did rather want another talk
-with him.  He's looking for a job in New York."
-
-Her surprise increased with her indifference: he
-almost fancied that she suspected him of being tainted
-with "foreignness."
-
-"A job in New York?  What sort of a job?  People
-don't have French tutors: what does he want to do?"
-
-"Chiefly to enjoy good conversation, I understand,"
-her husband retorted perversely; and she broke into an
-appreciative laugh.  "Oh, Newland, how funny!  Isn't
-that FRENCH?"
-
-On the whole, he was glad to have the matter settled
-for him by her refusing to take seriously his wish to
-invite M. Riviere.  Another after-dinner talk would have
-made it difficult to avoid the question of New York;
-and the more Archer considered it the less he was able
-to fit M. Riviere into any conceivable picture of New
-York as he knew it.
-
-He perceived with a flash of chilling insight that in
-future many problems would be thus negatively solved
-for him; but as he paid the hansom and followed his
-wife's long train into the house he took refuge in the
-comforting platitude that the first six months were
-always the most difficult in marriage.  "After that I
-suppose we shall have pretty nearly finished rubbing
-off each other's angles," he reflected; but the worst of
-it was that May's pressure was already bearing on the
-very angles whose sharpness he most wanted to keep.
-
-
-
-XXI.
-
-The small bright lawn stretched away smoothly to
-the big bright sea.
-
-The turf was hemmed with an edge of scarlet geranium
-and coleus, and cast-iron vases painted in chocolate
-colour, standing at intervals along the winding
-path that led to the sea, looped their garlands of
-petunia and ivy geranium above the neatly raked gravel.
-
-Half way between the edge of the cliff and the square
-wooden house (which was also chocolate-coloured, but
-with the tin roof of the verandah striped in yellow and
-brown to represent an awning) two large targets had
-been placed against a background of shrubbery.  On the
-other side of the lawn, facing the targets, was pitched a
-real tent, with benches and garden-seats about it.  A
-number of ladies in summer dresses and gentlemen in
-grey frock-coats and tall hats stood on the lawn or sat
-upon the benches; and every now and then a slender
-girl in starched muslin would step from the tent,
-bow in hand, and speed her shaft at one of the targets,
-while the spectators interrupted their talk to watch
-the result.
-
-Newland Archer, standing on the verandah of the
-house, looked curiously down upon this scene.  On each
-side of the shiny painted steps was a large blue china
-flower-pot on a bright yellow china stand.  A spiky
-green plant filled each pot, and below the verandah ran
-a wide border of blue hydrangeas edged with more red
-geraniums.  Behind him, the French windows of the
-drawing-rooms through which he had passed gave
-glimpses, between swaying lace curtains, of glassy parquet
-floors islanded with chintz poufs, dwarf armchairs,
-and velvet tables covered with trifles in silver.
-
-The Newport Archery Club always held its August
-meeting at the Beauforts'.  The sport, which had hitherto
-known no rival but croquet, was beginning to be
-discarded in favour of lawn-tennis; but the latter game
-was still considered too rough and inelegant for social
-occasions, and as an opportunity to show off pretty
-dresses and graceful attitudes the bow and arrow held
-their own.
-
-Archer looked down with wonder at the familiar
-spectacle.  It surprised him that life should be going on
-in the old way when his own reactions to it had so
-completely changed.  It was Newport that had first
-brought home to him the extent of the change.  In New
-York, during the previous winter, after he and May
-had settled down in the new greenish-yellow house
-with the bow-window and the Pompeian vestibule, he
-had dropped back with relief into the old routine of the
-office, and the renewal of this daily activity had served
-as a link with his former self.  Then there had been the
-pleasurable excitement of choosing a showy grey stepper
-for May's brougham (the Wellands had given the
-carriage), and the abiding occupation and interest of
-arranging his new library, which, in spite of family
-doubts and disapprovals, had been carried out as he
-had dreamed, with a dark embossed paper, Eastlake
-book-cases and "sincere" arm-chairs and tables.  At the
-Century he had found Winsett again, and at the Knickerbocker
-the fashionable young men of his own set;
-and what with the hours dedicated to the law and
-those given to dining out or entertaining friends at
-home, with an occasional evening at the Opera or the
-play, the life he was living had still seemed a fairly real
-and inevitable sort of business.
-
-But Newport represented the escape from duty into
-an atmosphere of unmitigated holiday-making.  Archer
-had tried to persuade May to spend the summer on a
-remote island off the coast of Maine (called, appropriately
-enough, Mount Desert), where a few hardy Bostonians
-and Philadelphians were camping in "native"
-cottages, and whence came reports of enchanting
-scenery and a wild, almost trapper-like existence amid
-woods and waters.
-
-But the Wellands always went to Newport, where
-they owned one of the square boxes on the cliffs, and
-their son-in-law could adduce no good reason why he
-and May should not join them there.  As Mrs. Welland
-rather tartly pointed out, it was hardly worth while for
-May to have worn herself out trying on summer clothes
-in Paris if she was not to be allowed to wear them; and
-this argument was of a kind to which Archer had as yet
-found no answer.
-
-May herself could not understand his obscure
-reluctance to fall in with so reasonable and pleasant a way
-of spending the summer.  She reminded him that he had
-always liked Newport in his bachelor days, and as this
-was indisputable he could only profess that he was sure
-he was going to like it better than ever now that they
-were to be there together.  But as he stood on the
-Beaufort verandah and looked out on the brightly peopled
-lawn it came home to him with a shiver that he
-was not going to like it at all.
-
-It was not May's fault, poor dear.  If, now and then,
-during their travels, they had fallen slightly out of step,
-harmony had been restored by their return to the
-conditions she was used to.  He had always foreseen that
-she would not disappoint him; and he had been right.
-He had married (as most young men did) because he
-had met a perfectly charming girl at the moment when
-a series of rather aimless sentimental adventures were
-ending in premature disgust; and she had represented
-peace, stability, comradeship, and the steadying sense
-of an unescapable duty.
-
-He could not say that he had been mistaken in his
-choice, for she had fulfilled all that he had expected.  It
-was undoubtedly gratifying to be the husband of one of
-the handsomest and most popular young married women
-in New York, especially when she was also one of the
-sweetest-tempered and most reasonable of wives; and
-Archer had never been insensible to such advantages.
-As for the momentary madness which had fallen upon
-him on the eve of his marriage, he had trained himself
-to regard it as the last of his discarded experiments.
-The idea that he could ever, in his senses, have dreamed
-of marrying the Countess Olenska had become almost
-unthinkable, and she remained in his memory simply as
-the most plaintive and poignant of a line of ghosts.
-
-But all these abstractions and eliminations made
-of his mind a rather empty and echoing place, and he
-supposed that was one of the reasons why the busy
-animated people on the Beaufort lawn shocked him as
-if they had been children playing in a grave-yard.
-
-He heard a murmur of skirts beside him, and the
-Marchioness Manson fluttered out of the drawing-room
-window.  As usual, she was extraordinarily festooned
-and bedizened, with a limp Leghorn hat anchored to
-her head by many windings of faded gauze, and a little
-black velvet parasol on a carved ivory handle absurdly
-balanced over her much larger hatbrim.
-
-"My dear Newland, I had no idea that you and May
-had arrived!  You yourself came only yesterday, you
-say?  Ah, business--business--professional duties . . . I
-understand.  Many husbands, I know, find it impossible
-to join their wives here except for the week-end."  She
-cocked her head on one side and languished at him
-through screwed-up eyes.  "But marriage is one long
-sacrifice, as I used often to remind my Ellen--"
-
-Archer's heart stopped with the queer jerk which it
-had given once before, and which seemed suddenly to
-slam a door between himself and the outer world; but
-this break of continuity must have been of the briefest,
-for he presently heard Medora answering a question he
-had apparently found voice to put.
-
-"No, I am not staying here, but with the Blenkers, in
-their delicious solitude at Portsmouth.  Beaufort was
-kind enough to send his famous trotters for me this
-morning, so that I might have at least a glimpse of one
-of Regina's garden-parties; but this evening I go back
-to rural life.  The Blenkers, dear original beings, have
-hired a primitive old farm-house at Portsmouth where
-they gather about them representative people . . ."  She
-drooped slightly beneath her protecting brim, and added
-with a faint blush:  "This week Dr. Agathon Carver is
-holding a series of Inner Thought meetings there.  A
-contrast indeed to this gay scene of worldly pleasure--
-but then I have always lived on contrasts!  To me the
-only death is monotony.  I always say to Ellen: Beware
-of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.  But
-my poor child is going through a phase of exaltation,
-of abhorrence of the world.  You know, I suppose, that
-she has declined all invitations to stay at Newport,
-even with her grandmother Mingott?  I could hardly
-persuade her to come with me to the Blenkers', if you
-will believe it!  The life she leads is morbid, unnatural.
-Ah, if she had only listened to me when it was still
-possible . . . When the door was still open . . . But
-shall we go down and watch this absorbing match?  I
-hear your May is one of the competitors."
-
-Strolling toward them from the tent Beaufort
-advanced over the lawn, tall, heavy, too tightly buttoned
-into a London frock-coat, with one of his own orchids
-in its buttonhole.  Archer, who had not seen him for
-two or three months, was struck by the change in his
-appearance.  In the hot summer light his floridness seemed
-heavy and bloated, and but for his erect square-
-shouldered walk he would have looked like an over-fed
-and over-dressed old man.
-
-There were all sorts of rumours afloat about
-Beaufort.  In the spring he had gone off on a long cruise to
-the West Indies in his new steam-yacht, and it was
-reported that, at various points where he had touched,
-a lady resembling Miss Fanny Ring had been seen in
-his company.  The steam-yacht, built in the Clyde, and
-fitted with tiled bath-rooms and other unheard-of luxuries,
-was said to have cost him half a million; and the
-pearl necklace which he had presented to his wife on
-his return was as magnificent as such expiatory offerings
-are apt to be.  Beaufort's fortune was substantial
-enough to stand the strain; and yet the disquieting
-rumours persisted, not only in Fifth Avenue but in Wall
-Street.  Some people said he had speculated unfortunately
-in railways, others that he was being bled by one
-of the most insatiable members of her profession; and
-to every report of threatened insolvency Beaufort
-replied by a fresh extravagance: the building of a new
-row of orchid-houses, the purchase of a new string of
-race-horses, or the addition of a new Meissonnier or
-Cabanel to his picture-gallery.
-
-He advanced toward the Marchioness and Newland
-with his usual half-sneering smile.  "Hullo, Medora!
-Did the trotters do their business?  Forty minutes, eh?
-. . .  Well, that's not so bad, considering your nerves
-had to be spared."  He shook hands with Archer, and
-then, turning back with them, placed himself on Mrs.
-Manson's other side, and said, in a low voice, a few
-words which their companion did not catch.
-
-The Marchioness replied by one of her queer foreign
-jerks, and a "Que voulez-vous?" which deepened Beaufort's
-frown; but he produced a good semblance of a
-congratulatory smile as he glanced at Archer to say:
-"You know May's going to carry off the first prize."
-
-"Ah, then it remains in the family," Medora rippled;
-and at that moment they reached the tent and Mrs.
-Beaufort met them in a girlish cloud of mauve muslin
-and floating veils.
-
-May Welland was just coming out of the tent.  In her
-white dress, with a pale green ribbon about the waist
-and a wreath of ivy on her hat, she had the same
-Diana-like aloofness as when she had entered the Beaufort
-ball-room on the night of her engagement.  In the
-interval not a thought seemed to have passed behind
-her eyes or a feeling through her heart; and though her
-husband knew that she had the capacity for both he
-marvelled afresh at the way in which experience dropped
-away from her.
-
-She had her bow and arrow in her hand, and placing
-herself on the chalk-mark traced on the turf she lifted
-the bow to her shoulder and took aim.  The attitude
-was so full of a classic grace that a murmur of appreciation
-followed her appearance, and Archer felt the
-glow of proprietorship that so often cheated him into
-momentary well-being.  Her rivals--Mrs. Reggie Chivers,
-the Merry girls, and divers rosy Thorleys, Dagonets
-and Mingotts, stood behind her in a lovely anxious
-group, brown heads and golden bent above the scores,
-and pale muslins and flower-wreathed hats mingled in
-a tender rainbow.  All were young and pretty, and
-bathed in summer bloom; but not one had the nymph-
-like ease of his wife, when, with tense muscles and
-happy frown, she bent her soul upon some feat of
-strength.
-
-"Gad," Archer heard Lawrence Lefferts say, "not
-one of the lot holds the bow as she does"; and Beaufort
-retorted:  "Yes; but that's the only kind of target she'll
-ever hit."
-
-Archer felt irrationally angry.  His host's contemptuous
-tribute to May's "niceness" was just what a husband
-should have wished to hear said of his wife.  The
-fact that a coarseminded man found her lacking in
-attraction was simply another proof of her quality; yet
-the words sent a faint shiver through his heart.  What if
-"niceness" carried to that supreme degree were only a
-negation, the curtain dropped before an emptiness?  As
-he looked at May, returning flushed and calm from her
-final bull's-eye, he had the feeling that he had never yet
-lifted that curtain.
-
-She took the congratulations of her rivals and of the
-rest of the company with the simplicity that was her
-crowning grace.  No one could ever be jealous of her
-triumphs because she managed to give the feeling that
-she would have been just as serene if she had missed
-them.  But when her eyes met her husband's her face
-glowed with the pleasure she saw in his.
-
-Mrs. Welland's basket-work pony-carriage was waiting
-for them, and they drove off among the dispersing
-carriages, May handling the reins and Archer sitting at
-her side.
-
-The afternoon sunlight still lingered upon the bright
-lawns and shrubberies, and up and down Bellevue Avenue
-rolled a double line of victorias, dog-carts, landaus
-and "vis-a-vis," carrying well-dressed ladies and
-gentlemen away from the Beaufort garden-party, or homeward
-from their daily afternoon turn along the Ocean
-Drive.
-
-"Shall we go to see Granny?" May suddenly
-proposed.  "I should like to tell her myself that I've won
-the prize.  There's lots of time before dinner."
-
-Archer acquiesced, and she turned the ponies down
-Narragansett Avenue, crossed Spring Street and drove
-out toward the rocky moorland beyond.  In this unfashionable
-region Catherine the Great, always indifferent
-to precedent and thrifty of purse, had built herself in
-her youth a many-peaked and cross-beamed cottage-
-orne on a bit of cheap land overlooking the bay.  Here,
-in a thicket of stunted oaks, her verandahs spread
-themselves above the island-dotted waters.  A winding
-drive led up between iron stags and blue glass balls
-embedded in mounds of geraniums to a front door of
-highly-varnished walnut under a striped verandah-roof;
-and behind it ran a narrow hall with a black and
-yellow star-patterned parquet floor, upon which opened
-four small square rooms with heavy flock-papers under
-ceilings on which an Italian house-painter had lavished
-all the divinities of Olympus.  One of these rooms had
-been turned into a bedroom by Mrs. Mingott when the
-burden of flesh descended on her, and in the adjoining
-one she spent her days, enthroned in a large armchair
-between the open door and window, and perpetually
-waving a palm-leaf fan which the prodigious projection
-of her bosom kept so far from the rest of her person
-that the air it set in motion stirred only the fringe of the
-anti-macassars on the chair-arms.
-
-Since she had been the means of hastening his marriage
-old Catherine had shown to Archer the cordiality
-which a service rendered excites toward the person
-served.  She was persuaded that irrepressible passion
-was the cause of his impatience; and being an ardent
-admirer of impulsiveness (when it did not lead to the
-spending of money) she always received him with a
-genial twinkle of complicity and a play of allusion to
-which May seemed fortunately impervious.
-
-She examined and appraised with much interest the
-diamond-tipped arrow which had been pinned on May's
-bosom at the conclusion of the match, remarking that
-in her day a filigree brooch would have been thought
-enough, but that there was no denying that Beaufort
-did things handsomely.
-
-"Quite an heirloom, in fact, my dear," the old lady
-chuckled.  "You must leave it in fee to your eldest girl."
-She pinched May's white arm and watched the colour
-flood her face.  "Well, well, what have I said to make
-you shake out the red flag?  Ain't there going to be any
-daughters--only boys, eh?  Good gracious, look at her
-blushing again all over her blushes!  What--can't I say
-that either?  Mercy me--when my children beg me to
-have all those gods and goddesses painted out overhead
-I always say I'm too thankful to have somebody about
-me that NOTHING can shock!"
-
-Archer burst into a laugh, and May echoed it, crimson
-to the eyes.
-
-"Well, now tell me all about the party, please, my
-dears, for I shall never get a straight word about it out
-of that silly Medora," the ancestress continued; and, as
-May exclaimed:  "Cousin Medora?  But I thought she
-was going back to Portsmouth?" she answered placidly:
-"So she is--but she's got to come here first to pick
-up Ellen.  Ah--you didn't know Ellen had come to
-spend the day with me?  Such fol-de-rol, her not coming
-for the summer; but I gave up arguing with young
-people about fifty years ago.  Ellen--ELLEN!" she cried in
-her shrill old voice, trying to bend forward far enough
-to catch a glimpse of the lawn beyond the verandah.
-
-There was no answer, and Mrs. Mingott rapped
-impatiently with her stick on the shiny floor.  A mulatto
-maid-servant in a bright turban, replying to the summons,
-informed her mistress that she had seen "Miss
-Ellen" going down the path to the shore; and Mrs.
-Mingott turned to Archer.
-
-"Run down and fetch her, like a good grandson; this
-pretty lady will describe the party to me," she said; and
-Archer stood up as if in a dream.
-
-He had heard the Countess Olenska's name pronounced
-often enough during the year and a half since
-they had last met, and was even familiar with the main
-incidents of her life in the interval.  He knew that she
-had spent the previous summer at Newport, where she
-appeared to have gone a great deal into society, but
-that in the autumn she had suddenly sub-let the "perfect
-house" which Beaufort had been at such pains to
-find for her, and decided to establish herself in
-Washington.  There, during the winter, he had heard of her
-(as one always heard of pretty women in Washington)
-as shining in the "brilliant diplomatic society" that was
-supposed to make up for the social short-comings of
-the Administration.  He had listened to these accounts,
-and to various contradictory reports on her appearance,
-her conversation, her point of view and her choice
-of friends, with the detachment with which one listens
-to reminiscences of some one long since dead; not till
-Medora suddenly spoke her name at the archery match
-had Ellen Olenska become a living presence to him
-again.  The Marchioness's foolish lisp had called up a
-vision of the little fire-lit drawing-room and the sound
-of the carriage-wheels returning down the deserted street.
-He thought of a story he had read, of some peasant
-children in Tuscany lighting a bunch of straw in a
-wayside cavern, and revealing old silent images in their
-painted tomb . . .
-
-The way to the shore descended from the bank on
-which the house was perched to a walk above the
-water planted with weeping willows.  Through their veil
-Archer caught the glint of the Lime Rock, with its
-white-washed turret and the tiny house in which the
-heroic light-house keeper, Ida Lewis, was living her last
-venerable years.  Beyond it lay the flat reaches and ugly
-government chimneys of Goat Island, the bay spreading
-northward in a shimmer of gold to Prudence Island
-with its low growth of oaks, and the shores of Conanicut
-faint in the sunset haze.
-
-From the willow walk projected a slight wooden pier
-ending in a sort of pagoda-like summer-house; and in
-the pagoda a lady stood, leaning against the rail, her
-back to the shore.  Archer stopped at the sight as if he
-had waked from sleep.  That vision of the past was a
-dream, and the reality was what awaited him in the
-house on the bank overhead: was Mrs. Welland's pony-
-carriage circling around and around the oval at the
-door, was May sitting under the shameless Olympians
-and glowing with secret hopes, was the Welland villa at
-the far end of Bellevue Avenue, and Mr. Welland,
-already dressed for dinner, and pacing the drawing-
-room floor, watch in hand, with dyspeptic impatience--
-for it was one of the houses in which one always knew
-exactly what is happening at a given hour.
-
-"What am I?  A son-in-law--" Archer thought.
-
-The figure at the end of the pier had not moved.  For
-a long moment the young man stood half way down
-the bank, gazing at the bay furrowed with the coming
-and going of sailboats, yacht-launches, fishing-craft and
-the trailing black coal-barges hauled by noisy tugs.  The
-lady in the summer-house seemed to be held by the
-same sight.  Beyond the grey bastions of Fort Adams a
-long-drawn sunset was splintering up into a thousand
-fires, and the radiance caught the sail of a catboat as it
-beat out through the channel between the Lime Rock
-and the shore.  Archer, as he watched, remembered the
-scene in the Shaughraun, and Montague lifting Ada
-Dyas's ribbon to his lips without her knowing that he
-was in the room.
-
-"She doesn't know--she hasn't guessed.  Shouldn't I
-know if she came up behind me, I wonder?" he mused;
-and suddenly he said to himself:  "If she doesn't turn
-before that sail crosses the Lime Rock light I'll go
-back."
-
-The boat was gliding out on the receding tide.  It slid
-before the Lime Rock, blotted out Ida Lewis's little
-house, and passed across the turret in which the light
-was hung.  Archer waited till a wide space of water
-sparkled between the last reef of the island and the
-stern of the boat; but still the figure in the summer-
-house did not move.
-
-He turned and walked up the hill.
-
-
-"I'm sorry you didn't find Ellen--I should have liked
-to see her again," May said as they drove home through
-the dusk.  "But perhaps she wouldn't have cared--she
-seems so changed."
-
-"Changed?" echoed her husband in a colourless voice,
-his eyes fixed on the ponies' twitching ears.
-
-"So indifferent to her friends, I mean; giving up New
-York and her house, and spending her time with such
-queer people.  Fancy how hideously uncomfortable she
-must be at the Blenkers'!  She says she does it to keep
-cousin Medora out of mischief: to prevent her marrying
-dreadful people.  But I sometimes think we've always
-bored her."
-
-Archer made no answer, and she continued, with a
-tinge of hardness that he had never before noticed in
-her frank fresh voice:  "After all, I wonder if she wouldn't
-be happier with her husband."
-
-He burst into a laugh.  "Sancta simplicitas!" he
-exclaimed; and as she turned a puzzled frown on him he
-added:  "I don't think I ever heard you say a cruel thing
-before."
-
-"Cruel?"
-
-"Well--watching the contortions of the damned is
-supposed to be a favourite sport of the angels; but I
-believe even they don't think people happier in hell."
-
-"It's a pity she ever married abroad then," said May,
-in the placid tone with which her mother met Mr.
-Welland's vagaries; and Archer felt himself gently relegated
-to the category of unreasonable husbands.
-
-They drove down Bellevue Avenue and turned in
-between the chamfered wooden gate-posts surmounted
-by cast-iron lamps which marked the approach to the
-Welland villa.  Lights were already shining through its
-windows, and Archer, as the carriage stopped, caught a
-glimpse of his father-in-law, exactly as he had pictured
-him, pacing the drawing-room, watch in hand and
-wearing the pained expression that he had long since
-found to be much more efficacious than anger.
-
-The young man, as he followed his wife into the hall,
-was conscious of a curious reversal of mood.  There
-was something about the luxury of the Welland house
-and the density of the Welland atmosphere, so charged
-with minute observances and exactions, that always
-stole into his system like a narcotic.  The heavy carpets,
-the watchful servants, the perpetually reminding tick of
-disciplined clocks, the perpetually renewed stack of
-cards and invitations on the hall table, the whole chain
-of tyrannical trifles binding one hour to the next, and
-each member of the household to all the others, made
-any less systematised and affluent existence seem unreal
-and precarious.  But now it was the Welland house,
-and the life he was expected to lead in it, that had
-become unreal and irrelevant, and the brief scene on
-the shore, when he had stood irresolute, halfway down
-the bank, was as close to him as the blood in his veins.
-
-All night he lay awake in the big chintz bedroom at
-May's side, watching the moonlight slant along the
-carpet, and thinking of Ellen Olenska driving home
-across the gleaming beaches behind Beaufort's trotters.
-
-
-
-XXII.
-
-A party for the Blenkers--the Blenkers?"
-
-Mr. Welland laid down his knife and fork and
-looked anxiously and incredulously across the luncheon-
-table at his wife, who, adjusting her gold eye-glasses,
-read aloud, in the tone of high comedy:  "Professor and
-Mrs. Emerson Sillerton request the pleasure of Mr. and
-Mrs. Welland's company at the meeting of the Wednesday
-Afternoon Club on August 25th at 3 o'clock
-punctually.  To meet Mrs. and the Misses Blenker.
-"Red Gables, Catherine Street.             R. S. V. P."
-
-"Good gracious--" Mr. Welland gasped, as if a second
-reading had been necessary to bring the monstrous
-absurdity of the thing home to him.
-
-"Poor Amy Sillerton--you never can tell what her
-husband will do next," Mrs. Welland sighed.  "I suppose
-he's just discovered the Blenkers."
-
-Professor Emerson Sillerton was a thorn in the side
-of Newport society; and a thorn that could not be
-plucked out, for it grew on a venerable and venerated
-family tree.  He was, as people said, a man who had
-had "every advantage."  His father was Sillerton Jackson's
-uncle, his mother a Pennilow of Boston; on each
-side there was wealth and position, and mutual
-suitability.  Nothing--as Mrs. Welland had often remarked--
-nothing on earth obliged Emerson Sillerton to be an
-archaeologist, or indeed a Professor of any sort, or to
-live in Newport in winter, or do any of the other
-revolutionary things that he did.  But at least, if he was
-going to break with tradition and flout society in the
-face, he need not have married poor Amy Dagonet,
-who had a right to expect "something different," and
-money enough to keep her own carriage.
-
-No one in the Mingott set could understand why
-Amy Sillerton had submitted so tamely to the eccentricities
-of a husband who filled the house with long-
-haired men and short-haired women, and, when he
-travelled, took her to explore tombs in Yucatan instead
-of going to Paris or Italy.  But there they were, set in
-their ways, and apparently unaware that they were
-different from other people; and when they gave one of
-their dreary annual garden-parties every family on the
-Cliffs, because of the Sillerton-Pennilow-Dagonet
-connection, had to draw lots and send an unwilling
-representative.
-
-"It's a wonder," Mrs. Welland remarked, "that they
-didn't choose the Cup Race day!  Do you remember,
-two years ago, their giving a party for a black man on
-the day of Julia Mingott's the dansant?  Luckily this
-time there's nothing else going on that I know of--for
-of course some of us will have to go."
-
-Mr. Welland sighed nervously.  "`Some of us,' my
-dear--more than one?  Three o'clock is such a very
-awkward hour.  I have to be here at half-past three to
-take my drops: it's really no use trying to follow
-Bencomb's new treatment if I don't do it systematically;
-and if I join you later, of course I shall miss my
-drive."  At the thought he laid down his knife and fork
-again, and a flush of anxiety rose to his finely-wrinkled
-cheek.
-
-"There's no reason why you should go at all, my
-dear," his wife answered with a cheerfulness that had
-become automatic.  "I have some cards to leave at the
-other end of Bellevue Avenue, and I'll drop in at about
-half-past three and stay long enough to make poor
-Amy feel that she hasn't been slighted."  She glanced
-hesitatingly at her daughter.  "And if Newland's afternoon
-is provided for perhaps May can drive you out
-with the ponies, and try their new russet harness."
-
-It was a principle in the Welland family that people's
-days and hours should be what Mrs. Welland called
-"provided for."  The melancholy possibility of having
-to "kill time" (especially for those who did not care for
-whist or solitaire) was a vision that haunted her as the
-spectre of the unemployed haunts the philanthropist.
-Another of her principles was that parents should never
-(at least visibly) interfere with the plans of their
-married children; and the difficulty of adjusting this respect
-for May's independence with the exigency of Mr. Welland's
-claims could be overcome only by the exercise of
-an ingenuity which left not a second of Mrs. Welland's
-own time unprovided for.
-
-"Of course I'll drive with Papa--I'm sure Newland
-will find something to do," May said, in a tone that
-gently reminded her husband of his lack of response.  It
-was a cause of constant distress to Mrs. Welland that
-her son-in-law showed so little foresight in planning his
-days.  Often already, during the fortnight that he had
-passed under her roof, when she enquired how he
-meant to spend his afternoon, he had answered
-paradoxically:  "Oh, I think for a change I'll just save it
-instead of spending it--" and once, when she and May
-had had to go on a long-postponed round of afternoon
-calls, he had confessed to having lain all the afternoon
-under a rock on the beach below the house.
-
-"Newland never seems to look ahead," Mrs. Welland
-once ventured to complain to her daughter; and
-May answered serenely:  "No; but you see it doesn't
-matter, because when there's nothing particular to do
-he reads a book."
-
-"Ah, yes--like his father!" Mrs. Welland agreed, as
-if allowing for an inherited oddity; and after that the
-question of Newland's unemployment was tacitly
-dropped.
-
-Nevertheless, as the day for the Sillerton reception
-approached, May began to show a natural solicitude
-for his welfare, and to suggest a tennis match at the
-Chiverses', or a sail on Julius Beaufort's cutter, as a
-means of atoning for her temporary desertion.  "I shall
-be back by six, you know, dear: Papa never drives later
-than that--" and she was not reassured till Archer said
-that he thought of hiring a run-about and driving up
-the island to a stud-farm to look at a second horse for
-her brougham.  They had been looking for this horse
-for some time, and the suggestion was so acceptable
-that May glanced at her mother as if to say:  "You see
-he knows how to plan out his time as well as any of
-us."
-
-The idea of the stud-farm and the brougham horse
-had germinated in Archer's mind on the very day when
-the Emerson Sillerton invitation had first been
-mentioned; but he had kept it to himself as if there were
-something clandestine in the plan, and discovery might
-prevent its execution.  He had, however, taken the
-precaution to engage in advance a runabout with a pair of
-old livery-stable trotters that could still do their
-eighteen miles on level roads; and at two o'clock, hastily
-deserting the luncheon-table, he sprang into the light
-carriage and drove off.
-
-The day was perfect.  A breeze from the north drove
-little puffs of white cloud across an ultramarine sky,
-with a bright sea running under it.  Bellevue Avenue
-was empty at that hour, and after dropping the stable-
-lad at the corner of Mill Street Archer turned down
-the Old Beach Road and drove across Eastman's Beach.
-
-He had the feeling of unexplained excitement with
-which, on half-holidays at school, he used to start off
-into the unknown.  Taking his pair at an easy gait, he
-counted on reaching the stud-farm, which was not far
-beyond Paradise Rocks, before three o'clock; so that,
-after looking over the horse (and trying him if he
-seemed promising) he would still have four golden
-hours to dispose of.
-
-As soon as he heard of the Sillerton's party he had
-said to himself that the Marchioness Manson would
-certainly come to Newport with the Blenkers, and that
-Madame Olenska might again take the opportunity of
-spending the day with her grandmother.  At any rate,
-the Blenker habitation would probably be deserted,
-and he would be able, without indiscretion, to satisfy a
-vague curiosity concerning it.  He was not sure that he
-wanted to see the Countess Olenska again; but ever
-since he had looked at her from the path above the bay
-he had wanted, irrationally and indescribably, to see
-the place she was living in, and to follow the movements
-of her imagined figure as he had watched the
-real one in the summer-house.  The longing was with
-him day and night, an incessant undefinable craving,
-like the sudden whim of a sick man for food or drink
-once tasted and long since forgotten.  He could not see
-beyond the craving, or picture what it might lead to,
-for he was not conscious of any wish to speak to
-Madame Olenska or to hear her voice.  He simply felt
-that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of
-earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea
-enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty.
-
-When he reached the stud-farm a glance showed him
-that the horse was not what he wanted; nevertheless he
-took a turn behind it in order to prove to himself that
-he was not in a hurry.  But at three o'clock he shook
-out the reins over the trotters and turned into the
-by-roads leading to Portsmouth.  The wind had dropped
-and a faint haze on the horizon showed that a fog was
-waiting to steal up the Saconnet on the turn of the tide;
-but all about him fields and woods were steeped in
-golden light.
-
-He drove past grey-shingled farm-houses in orchards,
-past hay-fields and groves of oak, past villages with
-white steeples rising sharply into the fading sky; and at
-last, after stopping to ask the way of some men at
-work in a field, he turned down a lane between high
-banks of goldenrod and brambles.  At the end of the
-lane was the blue glimmer of the river; to the left,
-standing in front of a clump of oaks and maples, he
-saw a long tumble-down house with white paint peeling
-from its clapboards.
-
-On the road-side facing the gateway stood one of the
-open sheds in which the New Englander shelters his
-farming implements and visitors "hitch" their "teams."
-Archer, jumping down, led his pair into the shed, and
-after tying them to a post turned toward the house.
-The patch of lawn before it had relapsed into a hay-
-field; but to the left an overgrown box-garden full of
-dahlias and rusty rose-bushes encircled a ghostly summer-
-house of trellis-work that had once been white,
-surmounted by a wooden Cupid who had lost his bow
-and arrow but continued to take ineffectual aim.
-
-Archer leaned for a while against the gate.  No one
-was in sight, and not a sound came from the open
-windows of the house: a grizzled Newfoundland dozing
-before the door seemed as ineffectual a guardian as
-the arrowless Cupid.  It was strange to think that this
-place of silence and decay was the home of the turbulent
-Blenkers; yet Archer was sure that he was not
-mistaken.
-
-For a long time he stood there, content to take in the
-scene, and gradually falling under its drowsy spell; but
-at length he roused himself to the sense of the passing
-time.  Should he look his fill and then drive away?  He
-stood irresolute, wishing suddenly to see the inside of
-the house, so that he might picture the room that
-Madame Olenska sat in.  There was nothing to prevent
-his walking up to the door and ringing the bell; if, as
-he supposed, she was away with the rest of the party,
-he could easily give his name, and ask permission to go
-into the sitting-room to write a message.
-
-But instead, he crossed the lawn and turned toward
-the box-garden.  As he entered it he caught sight of
-something bright-coloured in the summer-house, and
-presently made it out to be a pink parasol.  The parasol
-drew him like a magnet: he was sure it was hers.  He
-went into the summer-house, and sitting down on the
-rickety seat picked up the silken thing and looked at its
-carved handle, which was made of some rare wood
-that gave out an aromatic scent.  Archer lifted the handle
-to his lips.
-
-He heard a rustle of skirts against the box, and sat
-motionless, leaning on the parasol handle with clasped
-hands, and letting the rustle come nearer without lifting
-his eyes.  He had always known that this must
-happen . . .
-
-"Oh, Mr. Archer!" exclaimed a loud young voice;
-and looking up he saw before him the youngest and
-largest of the Blenker girls, blonde and blowsy, in
-bedraggled muslin.  A red blotch on one of her cheeks
-seemed to show that it had recently been pressed against
-a pillow, and her half-awakened eyes stared at him
-hospitably but confusedly.
-
-"Gracious--where did you drop from?  I must have
-been sound asleep in the hammock.  Everybody else has
-gone to Newport.  Did you ring?" she incoherently
-enquired.
-
-Archer's confusion was greater than hers.  "I--no--
-that is, I was just going to.  I had to come up the island
-to see about a horse, and I drove over on a chance of
-finding Mrs. Blenker and your visitors.  But the house
-seemed empty--so I sat down to wait."
-
-Miss Blenker, shaking off the fumes of sleep, looked
-at him with increasing interest.  "The house IS empty.
-Mother's not here, or the Marchioness--or anybody
-but me."  Her glance became faintly reproachful.  "Didn't
-you know that Professor and Mrs. Sillerton are giving a
-garden-party for mother and all of us this afternoon?  It
-was too unlucky that I couldn't go; but I've had a sore
-throat, and mother was afraid of the drive home this
-evening.  Did you ever know anything so disappointing?
-Of course," she added gaily, "I shouldn't have minded
-half as much if I'd known you were coming."
-
-Symptoms of a lumbering coquetry became visible in
-her, and Archer found the strength to break in:  "But
-Madame Olenska--has she gone to Newport too?"
-
-Miss Blenker looked at him with surprise.  "Madame
-Olenska--didn't you know she'd been called away?"
-
-"Called away?--"
-
-"Oh, my best parasol!  I lent it to that goose of a
-Katie, because it matched her ribbons, and the careless
-thing must have dropped it here.  We Blenkers are all
-like that . . . real Bohemians!"  Recovering the
-sunshade with a powerful hand she unfurled it and
-suspended its rosy dome above her head.  "Yes, Ellen was
-called away yesterday: she lets us call her Ellen, you
-know.  A telegram came from Boston: she said she
-might be gone for two days.  I do LOVE the way she does
-her hair, don't you?" Miss Blenker rambled on.
-
-Archer continued to stare through her as though she
-had been transparent.  All he saw was the trumpery
-parasol that arched its pinkness above her giggling
-head.
-
-After a moment he ventured:  "You don't happen to
-know why Madame Olenska went to Boston?  I hope it
-was not on account of bad news?"
-
-Miss Blenker took this with a cheerful incredulity.
-"Oh, I don't believe so.  She didn't tell us what was in
-the telegram.  I think she didn't want the Marchioness
-to know.  She's so romantic-looking, isn't she?  Doesn't
-she remind you of Mrs. Scott-Siddons when she reads
-`Lady Geraldine's Courtship'?  Did you never hear her?"
-
-Archer was dealing hurriedly with crowding thoughts.
-His whole future seemed suddenly to be unrolled
-before him; and passing down its endless emptiness he
-saw the dwindling figure of a man to whom nothing
-was ever to happen.  He glanced about him at the
-unpruned garden, the tumble-down house, and the oak-
-grove under which the dusk was gathering.  It had
-seemed so exactly the place in which he ought to have
-found Madame Olenska; and she was far away, and
-even the pink sunshade was not hers . . .
-
-He frowned and hesitated.  "You don't know, I
-suppose-- I shall be in Boston tomorrow.  If I could
-manage to see her--"
-
-He felt that Miss Blenker was losing interest in him,
-though her smile persisted.  "Oh, of course; how lovely
-of you!  She's staying at the Parker House; it must be
-horrible there in this weather."
-
-After that Archer was but intermittently aware of the
-remarks they exchanged.  He could only remember stoutly
-resisting her entreaty that he should await the returning
-family and have high tea with them before he drove
-home.  At length, with his hostess still at his side, he
-passed out of range of the wooden Cupid, unfastened his
-horses and drove off.  At the turn of the lane he saw Miss
-Blenker standing at the gate and waving the pink parasol.
-
-
-
-XXIII.
-
-The next morning, when Archer got out of the Fall
-River train, he emerged upon a steaming midsummer
-Boston.  The streets near the station were full of the
-smell of beer and coffee and decaying fruit and a shirt-
-sleeved populace moved through them with the intimate
-abandon of boarders going down the passage to
-the bathroom.
-
-Archer found a cab and drove to the Somerset Club
-for breakfast.  Even the fashionable quarters had the air
-of untidy domesticity to which no excess of heat ever
-degrades the European cities.  Care-takers in calico
-lounged on the door-steps of the wealthy, and the
-Common looked like a pleasure-ground on the morrow
-of a Masonic picnic.  If Archer had tried to imagine
-Ellen Olenska in improbable scenes he could not have
-called up any into which it was more difficult to fit her
-than this heat-prostrated and deserted Boston.
-
-He breakfasted with appetite and method, beginning
-with a slice of melon, and studying a morning paper
-while he waited for his toast and scrambled eggs.  A
-new sense of energy and activity had possessed him
-ever since he had announced to May the night before
-that he had business in Boston, and should take the
-Fall River boat that night and go on to New York the
-following evening.  It had always been understood that
-he would return to town early in the week, and when
-he got back from his expedition to Portsmouth a letter
-from the office, which fate had conspicuously placed
-on a corner of the hall table, sufficed to justify his
-sudden change of plan.  He was even ashamed of the
-ease with which the whole thing had been done: it
-reminded him, for an uncomfortable moment, of Lawrence
-Lefferts's masterly contrivances for securing his
-freedom.  But this did not long trouble him, for he was
-not in an analytic mood.
-
-After breakfast he smoked a cigarette and glanced
-over the Commercial Advertiser.  While he was thus
-engaged two or three men he knew came in, and the
-usual greetings were exchanged: it was the same world
-after all, though he had such a queer sense of having
-slipped through the meshes of time and space.
-
-He looked at his watch, and finding that it was
-half-past nine got up and went into the writing-room.
-There he wrote a few lines, and ordered a messenger to
-take a cab to the Parker House and wait for the
-answer.  He then sat down behind another newspaper and
-tried to calculate how long it would take a cab to get to
-the Parker House.
-
-"The lady was out, sir," he suddenly heard a waiter's
-voice at his elbow; and he stammered:  "Out?--" as if
-it were a word in a strange language.
-
-He got up and went into the hall.  It must be a
-mistake: she could not be out at that hour.  He flushed
-with anger at his own stupidity: why had he not sent
-the note as soon as he arrived?
-
-He found his hat and stick and went forth into the
-street.  The city had suddenly become as strange and
-vast and empty as if he were a traveller from distant
-lands.  For a moment he stood on the door-step hesitating;
-then he decided to go to the Parker House.  What if
-the messenger had been misinformed, and she were still
-there?
-
-He started to walk across the Common; and on the
-first bench, under a tree, he saw her sitting.  She had a
-grey silk sunshade over her head--how could he ever
-have imagined her with a pink one?  As he approached
-he was struck by her listless attitude: she sat there as if
-she had nothing else to do.  He saw her drooping profile,
-and the knot of hair fastened low in the neck
-under her dark hat, and the long wrinkled glove on the
-hand that held the sunshade.  He came a step or two
-nearer, and she turned and looked at him.
-
-"Oh"--she said; and for the first time he noticed a
-startled look on her face; but in another moment it
-gave way to a slow smile of wonder and contentment.
-
-"Oh"--she murmured again, on a different note, as
-he stood looking down at her; and without rising she
-made a place for him on the bench.
-
-"I'm here on business--just got here," Archer
-explained; and, without knowing why, he suddenly began
-to feign astonishment at seeing her.  "But what on earth
-are you doing in this wilderness?"  He had really no
-idea what he was saying: he felt as if he were shouting
-at her across endless distances, and she might vanish
-again before he could overtake her.
-
-"I?  Oh, I'm here on business too," she answered,
-turning her head toward him so that they were face to
-face.  The words hardly reached him: he was aware
-only of her voice, and of the startling fact that not an
-echo of it had remained in his memory.  He had not
-even remembered that it was low-pitched, with a faint
-roughness on the consonants.
-
-"You do your hair differently," he said, his heart
-beating as if he had uttered something irrevocable.
-
-"Differently?  No--it's only that I do it as best I can
-when I'm without Nastasia."
-
-"Nastasia; but isn't she with you?"
-
-"No; I'm alone.  For two days it was not worth while
-to bring her."
-
-"You're alone--at the Parker House?"
-
-She looked at him with a flash of her old malice.
-"Does it strike you as dangerous?"
-
-"No; not dangerous--"
-
-"But unconventional?  I see; I suppose it is."  She
-considered a moment.  "I hadn't thought of it, because
-I've just done something so much more unconventional."
-The faint tinge of irony lingered in her eyes.  "I've just
-refused to take back a sum of money--that belonged to
-me."
-
-Archer sprang up and moved a step or two away.
-She had furled her parasol and sat absently drawing
-patterns on the gravel.  Presently he came back and
-stood before her.
-
-"Some one--has come here to meet you?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"With this offer?"
-
-She nodded.
-
-"And you refused--because of the conditions?"
-
-"I refused," she said after a moment.
-
-He sat down by her again.  "What were the conditions?"
-
-"Oh, they were not onerous: just to sit at the head of
-his table now and then."
-
-There was another interval of silence.  Archer's heart
-had slammed itself shut in the queer way it had, and he
-sat vainly groping for a word.
-
-"He wants you back--at any price?"
-
-"Well--a considerable price.  At least the sum is
-considerable for me."
-
-He paused again, beating about the question he felt
-he must put.
-
-"It was to meet him here that you came?"
-
-She stared, and then burst into a laugh.  "Meet
-him--my husband?  HERE?  At this season he's always at
-Cowes or Baden."
-
-"He sent some one?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"With a letter?"
-
-She shook her head.  "No; just a message.  He never
-writes.  I don't think I've had more than one letter from
-him."  The allusion brought the colour to her cheek,
-and it reflected itself in Archer's vivid blush.
-
-"Why does he never write?"
-
-"Why should he?  What does one have secretaries
-for?"
-
-The young man's blush deepened.  She had pronounced
-the word as if it had no more significance than any
-other in her vocabulary.  For a moment it was on the
-tip of his tongue to ask:  "Did he send his secretary,
-then?"  But the remembrance of Count Olenski's only
-letter to his wife was too present to him.  He paused
-again, and then took another plunge.
-
-"And the person?"--
-
-"The emissary?  The emissary," Madame Olenska
-rejoined, still smiling, "might, for all I care, have left
-already; but he has insisted on waiting till this evening
-. . . in case . . . on the chance . . ."
-
-"And you came out here to think the chance over?"
-
-"I came out to get a breath of air.  The hotel's too
-stifling.  I'm taking the afternoon train back to Portsmouth."
-
-They sat silent, not looking at each other, but straight
-ahead at the people passing along the path.  Finally she
-turned her eyes again to his face and said:  "You're not
-changed."
-
-He felt like answering:  "I was, till I saw you again;"
-but instead he stood up abruptly and glanced about
-him at the untidy sweltering park.
-
-"This is horrible.  Why shouldn't we go out a little on
-the bay?  There's a breeze, and it will be cooler.  We
-might take the steamboat down to Point Arley."  She
-glanced up at him hesitatingly and he went on:  "On a
-Monday morning there won't be anybody on the boat.
-My train doesn't leave till evening: I'm going back to
-New York.  Why shouldn't we?" he insisted, looking
-down at her; and suddenly he broke out:  "Haven't we
-done all we could?"
-
-"Oh"--she murmured again.  She stood up and
-reopened her sunshade, glancing about her as if to take
-counsel of the scene, and assure herself of the impossibility
-of remaining in it.  Then her eyes returned to his
-face.  "You mustn't say things like that to me," she
-said.
-
-"I'll say anything you like; or nothing.  I won't open
-my mouth unless you tell me to.  What harm can it do
-to anybody?  All I want is to listen to you," he
-stammered.
-
-She drew out a little gold-faced watch on an
-enamelled chain.  "Oh, don't calculate," he broke out; "give
-me the day!  I want to get you away from that man.  At
-what time was he coming?"
-
-Her colour rose again.  "At eleven."
-
-"Then you must come at once."
-
-"You needn't be afraid--if I don't come."
-
-"Nor you either--if you do.  I swear I only want to
-hear about you, to know what you've been doing.  It's a
-hundred years since we've met--it may be another
-hundred before we meet again."
-
-She still wavered, her anxious eyes on his face.  "Why
-didn't you come down to the beach to fetch me, the
-day I was at Granny's?" she asked.
-
-"Because you didn't look round--because you didn't
-know I was there.  I swore I wouldn't unless you looked
-round."  He laughed as the childishness of the confession
-struck him.
-
-"But I didn't look round on purpose."
-
-"On purpose?"
-
-"I knew you were there; when you drove in I
-recognised the ponies.  So I went down to the beach."
-
-"To get away from me as far as you could?"
-
-She repeated in a low voice:  "To get away from you
-as far as I could."
-
-He laughed out again, this time in boyish satisfaction.
-"Well, you see it's no use.  I may as well tell you,"
-he added, "that the business I came here for was just to
-find you.  But, look here, we must start or we shall miss
-our boat."
-
-"Our boat?"  She frowned perplexedly, and then
-smiled.  "Oh, but I must go back to the hotel first:  I
-must leave a note--"
-
-"As many notes as you please.  You can write here."
-He drew out a note-case and one of the new stylographic
-pens.  "I've even got an envelope--you see how
-everything's predestined!  There--steady the thing on
-your knee, and I'll get the pen going in a second.  They
-have to be humoured; wait--"  He banged the hand
-that held the pen against the back of the bench.  "It's
-like jerking down the mercury in a thermometer: just a
-trick.  Now try--"
-
-She laughed, and bending over the sheet of paper
-which he had laid on his note-case, began to write.
-Archer walked away a few steps, staring with radiant
-unseeing eyes at the passersby, who, in their turn,
-paused to stare at the unwonted sight of a fashionably-
-dressed lady writing a note on her knee on a bench in
-the Common.
-
-Madame Olenska slipped the sheet into the envelope,
-wrote a name on it, and put it into her pocket.  Then
-she too stood up.
-
-They walked back toward Beacon Street, and near
-the club Archer caught sight of the plush-lined "herdic"
-which had carried his note to the Parker House,
-and whose driver was reposing from this effort by
-bathing his brow at the corner hydrant.
-
-"I told you everything was predestined!  Here's a cab
-for us.  You see!"  They laughed, astonished at the miracle
-of picking up a public conveyance at that hour, and
-in that unlikely spot, in a city where cab-stands were
-still a "foreign" novelty.
-
-Archer, looking at his watch, saw that there was
-time to drive to the Parker House before going to the
-steamboat landing.  They rattled through the hot streets
-and drew up at the door of the hotel.
-
-Archer held out his hand for the letter.  "Shall I take
-it in?" he asked; but Madame Olenska, shaking her
-head, sprang out and disappeared through the glazed
-doors.  It was barely half-past ten; but what if the
-emissary, impatient for her reply, and not knowing how
-else to employ his time, were already seated among the
-travellers with cooling drinks at their elbows of whom
-Archer had caught a glimpse as she went in?
-
-He waited, pacing up and down before the herdic.  A
-Sicilian youth with eyes like Nastasia's offered to shine
-his boots, and an Irish matron to sell him peaches; and
-every few moments the doors opened to let out hot
-men with straw hats tilted far back, who glanced at
-him as they went by.  He marvelled that the door should
-open so often, and that all the people it let out should
-look so like each other, and so like all the other hot
-men who, at that hour, through the length and breadth
-of the land, were passing continuously in and out of
-the swinging doors of hotels.
-
-And then, suddenly, came a face that he could not
-relate to the other faces.  He caught but a flash of it, for
-his pacings had carried him to the farthest point of his
-beat, and it was in turning back to the hotel that he
-saw, in a group of typical countenances--the lank and
-weary, the round and surprised, the lantern-jawed and
-mild--this other face that was so many more things at
-once, and things so different.  It was that of a young
-man, pale too, and half-extinguished by the heat, or
-worry, or both, but somehow, quicker, vivider, more
-conscious; or perhaps seeming so because he was so
-different.  Archer hung a moment on a thin thread of
-memory, but it snapped and floated off with the disappearing
-face--apparently that of some foreign business
-man, looking doubly foreign in such a setting.  He
-vanished in the stream of passersby, and Archer
-resumed his patrol.
-
-He did not care to be seen watch in hand within
-view of the hotel, and his unaided reckoning of the
-lapse of time led him to conclude that, if Madame
-Olenska was so long in reappearing, it could only be
-because she had met the emissary and been waylaid by
-him.  At the thought Archer's apprehension rose to
-anguish.
-
-"If she doesn't come soon I'll go in and find her," he
-said.
-
-The doors swung open again and she was at his side.
-They got into the herdic, and as it drove off he took
-out his watch and saw that she had been absent just
-three minutes.  In the clatter of loose windows that
-made talk impossible they bumped over the disjointed
-cobblestones to the wharf.
-
-
-Seated side by side on a bench of the half-empty boat
-they found that they had hardly anything to say to each
-other, or rather that what they had to say communicated
-itself best in the blessed silence of their release
-and their isolation.
-
-As the paddle-wheels began to turn, and wharves
-and shipping to recede through the veil of heat, it
-seemed to Archer that everything in the old familiar
-world of habit was receding also.  He longed to ask
-Madame Olenska if she did not have the same feeling:
-the feeling that they were starting on some long voyage
-from which they might never return.  But he was afraid
-to say it, or anything else that might disturb the delicate
-balance of her trust in him.  In reality he had no
-wish to betray that trust.  There had been days and
-nights when the memory of their kiss had burned and
-burned on his lips; the day before even, on the drive to
-Portsmouth, the thought of her had run through him
-like fire; but now that she was beside him, and they
-were drifting forth into this unknown world, they seemed
-to have reached the kind of deeper nearness that a
-touch may sunder.
-
-As the boat left the harbour and turned seaward a
-breeze stirred about them and the bay broke up into
-long oily undulations, then into ripples tipped with
-spray.  The fog of sultriness still hung over the city, but
-ahead lay a fresh world of ruffled waters, and distant
-promontories with light-houses in the sun.  Madame
-Olenska, leaning back against the boat-rail, drank in
-the coolness between parted lips.  She had wound a
-long veil about her hat, but it left her face uncovered,
-and Archer was struck by the tranquil gaiety of her
-expression.  She seemed to take their adventure as a
-matter of course, and to be neither in fear of unexpected
-encounters, nor (what was worse) unduly elated
-by their possibility.
-
-In the bare dining-room of the inn, which he had
-hoped they would have to themselves, they found a
-strident party of innocent-looking young men and
-women--school-teachers on a holiday, the landlord told
-them--and Archer's heart sank at the idea of having to
-talk through their noise.
-
-"This is hopeless--I'll ask for a private room," he
-said; and Madame Olenska, without offering any objection,
-waited while he went in search of it.  The room
-opened on a long wooden verandah, with the sea coming
-in at the windows.  It was bare and cool, with a
-table covered with a coarse checkered cloth and adorned
-by a bottle of pickles and a blueberry pie under a cage.
-No more guileless-looking cabinet particulier ever
-offered its shelter to a clandestine couple: Archer fancied
-he saw the sense of its reassurance in the faintly amused
-smile with which Madame Olenska sat down opposite
-to him.  A woman who had run away from her husband--
-and reputedly with another man--was likely to have
-mastered the art of taking things for granted; but
-something in the quality of her composure took the edge
-from his irony.  By being so quiet, so unsurprised and
-so simple she had managed to brush away the conventions
-and make him feel that to seek to be alone was
-the natural thing for two old friends who had so much
-to say to each other. . . .
-
-
-
-XXIV.
-
-They lunched slowly and meditatively, with mute
-intervals between rushes of talk; for, the spell once
-broken, they had much to say, and yet moments when
-saying became the mere accompaniment to long duologues
-of silence.  Archer kept the talk from his own
-affairs, not with conscious intention but because he did
-not want to miss a word of her history; and leaning on
-the table, her chin resting on her clasped hands, she
-talked to him of the year and a half since they had met.
-
-She had grown tired of what people called "society";
-New York was kind, it was almost oppressively
-hospitable; she should never forget the way in which it had
-welcomed her back; but after the first flush of novelty
-she had found herself, as she phrased it, too "different"
-to care for the things it cared about--and so she had
-decided to try Washington, where one was supposed to
-meet more varieties of people and of opinion.  And on
-the whole she should probably settle down in Washington,
-and make a home there for poor Medora, who
-had worn out the patience of all her other relations just
-at the time when she most needed looking after and
-protecting from matrimonial perils.
-
-"But Dr. Carver--aren't you afraid of Dr. Carver?  I
-hear he's been staying with you at the Blenkers'."
-
-She smiled.  "Oh, the Carver danger is over.  Dr.
-Carver is a very clever man.  He wants a rich wife to
-finance his plans, and Medora is simply a good
-advertisement as a convert."
-
-"A convert to what?"
-
-"To all sorts of new and crazy social schemes.  But,
-do you know, they interest me more than the blind
-conformity to tradition--somebody else's tradition--that
-I see among our own friends.  It seems stupid to have
-discovered America only to make it into a copy of another
-country."  She smiled across the table.  "Do you suppose
-Christopher Columbus would have taken all that trouble
-just to go to the Opera with the Selfridge Merrys?"
-
-Archer changed colour.  "And Beaufort--do you say
-these things to Beaufort?" he asked abruptly.
-
-"I haven't seen him for a long time.  But I used to;
-and he understands."
-
-"Ah, it's what I've always told you; you don't like
-us. And you like Beaufort because he's so unlike us."
-He looked about the bare room and out at the bare
-beach and the row of stark white village houses strung
-along the shore.  "We're damnably dull.  We've no
-character, no colour, no variety.--I wonder," he broke out,
-"why you don't go back?"
-
-Her eyes darkened, and he expected an indignant
-rejoinder.  But she sat silent, as if thinking over what he
-had said, and he grew frightened lest she should answer
-that she wondered too.
-
-At length she said:  "I believe it's because of you."
-
-It was impossible to make the confession more
-dispassionately, or in a tone less encouraging to the
-vanity of the person addressed.  Archer reddened to the
-temples, but dared not move or speak: it was as if her
-words had been some rare butterfly that the least motion
-might drive off on startled wings, but that might
-gather a flock about it if it were left undisturbed.
-
-"At least," she continued, "it was you who made me
-understand that under the dullness there are things so
-fine and sensitive and delicate that even those I most
-cared for in my other life look cheap in comparison.  I
-don't know how to explain myself"--she drew together
-her troubled brows-- "but it seems as if I'd
-never before understood with how much that is hard
-and shabby and base the most exquisite pleasures may
-be paid."
-
-"Exquisite pleasures--it's something to have had
-them!" he felt like retorting; but the appeal in her eyes
-kept him silent.
-
-"I want," she went on, "to be perfectly honest with
-you--and with myself.  For a long time I've hoped this
-chance would come: that I might tell you how you've
-helped me, what you've made of me--"
-
-Archer sat staring beneath frowning brows.  He
-interrupted her with a laugh.  "And what do you make out
-that you've made of me?"
-
-She paled a little.  "Of you?"
-
-"Yes: for I'm of your making much more than you
-ever were of mine.  I'm the man who married one
-woman because another one told him to."
-
-Her paleness turned to a fugitive flush.  "I thought--
-you promised--you were not to say such things today."
-
-"Ah--how like a woman!  None of you will ever see
-a bad business through!"
-
-She lowered her voice.  "IS it a bad business--for
-May?"
-
-He stood in the window, drumming against the raised
-sash, and feeling in every fibre the wistful tenderness
-with which she had spoken her cousin's name.
-
-"For that's the thing we've always got to think of--
-haven't we--by your own showing?" she insisted.
-
-"My own showing?" he echoed, his blank eyes still
-on the sea.
-
-"Or if not," she continued, pursuing her own thought
-with a painful application, "if it's not worth while to
-have given up, to have missed things, so that others
-may be saved from disillusionment and misery--then
-everything I came home for, everything that made my
-other life seem by contrast so bare and so poor because
-no one there took account of them--all these things are
-a sham or a dream--"
-
-He turned around without moving from his place.
-"And in that case there's no reason on earth why you
-shouldn't go back?" he concluded for her.
-
-Her eyes were clinging to him desperately.  "Oh, IS
-there no reason?"
-
-"Not if you staked your all on the success of my
-marriage.  My marriage," he said savagely, "isn't going
-to be a sight to keep you here."  She made no answer,
-and he went on:  "What's the use?  You gave me my
-first glimpse of a real life, and at the same moment you
-asked me to go on with a sham one.  It's beyond human
-enduring--that's all."
-
-"Oh, don't say that; when I'm enduring it!" she
-burst out, her eyes filling.
-
-Her arms had dropped along the table, and she sat
-with her face abandoned to his gaze as if in the
-recklessness of a desperate peril.  The face exposed her as
-much as if it had been her whole person, with the soul
-behind it: Archer stood dumb, overwhelmed by what it
-suddenly told him.
-
-"You too--oh, all this time, you too?"
-
-For answer, she let the tears on her lids overflow and
-run slowly downward.
-
-Half the width of the room was still between them,
-and neither made any show of moving.  Archer was
-conscious of a curious indifference to her bodily presence:
-he would hardly have been aware of it if one of
-the hands she had flung out on the table had not drawn
-his gaze as on the occasion when, in the little Twenty-
-third Street house, he had kept his eye on it in order
-not to look at her face.  Now his imagination spun
-about the hand as about the edge of a vortex; but still
-he made no effort to draw nearer.  He had known the
-love that is fed on caresses and feeds them; but this
-passion that was closer than his bones was not to be
-superficially satisfied.  His one terror was to do anything
-which might efface the sound and impression of
-her words; his one thought, that he should never again
-feel quite alone.
-
-But after a moment the sense of waste and ruin
-overcame him.  There they were, close together and safe
-and shut in; yet so chained to their separate destinies
-that they might as well have been half the world apart.
-
-"What's the use--when you will go back?" he broke
-out, a great hopeless HOW ON EARTH CAN I KEEP YOU?
-crying out to her beneath his words.
-
-She sat motionless, with lowered lids.  "Oh--I shan't
-go yet!"
-
-"Not yet?  Some time, then?  Some time that you
-already foresee?"
-
-At that she raised her clearest eyes.  "I promise you:
-not as long as you hold out.  Not as long as we can
-look straight at each other like this."
-
-He dropped into his chair.  What her answer really
-said was:  "If you lift a finger you'll drive me back:
-back to all the abominations you know of, and all the
-temptations you half guess."  He understood it as clearly
-as if she had uttered the words, and the thought kept
-him anchored to his side of the table in a kind of
-moved and sacred submission.
-
-"What a life for you!--" he groaned.
-
-"Oh--as long as it's a part of yours."
-
-"And mine a part of yours?"
-
-She nodded.
-
-"And that's to be all--for either of us?"
-
-"Well; it IS all, isn't it?"
-
-At that he sprang up, forgetting everything but the
-sweetness of her face.  She rose too, not as if to meet
-him or to flee from him, but quietly, as though the
-worst of the task were done and she had only to wait;
-so quietly that, as he came close, her outstretched hands
-acted not as a check but as a guide to him.  They fell
-into his, while her arms, extended but not rigid, kept
-him far enough off to let her surrendered face say the
-rest.
-
-They may have stood in that way for a long time, or
-only for a few moments; but it was long enough for her
-silence to communicate all she had to say, and for him
-to feel that only one thing mattered.  He must do nothing
-to make this meeting their last; he must leave their
-future in her care, asking only that she should keep fast
-hold of it.
-
-"Don't--don't be unhappy," she said, with a break
-in her voice, as she drew her hands away; and he
-answered:  "You won't go back--you won't go back?"
-as if it were the one possibility he could not bear.
-
-"I won't go back," she said; and turning away she
-opened the door and led the way into the public
-dining-room.
-
-The strident school-teachers were gathering up their
-possessions preparatory to a straggling flight to the wharf;
-across the beach lay the white steam-boat at the pier;
-and over the sunlit waters Boston loomed in a line of haze.
-
-
-
-XXV.
-
-Once more on the boat, and in the presence of others,
-Archer felt a tranquillity of spirit that surprised as
-much as it sustained him.
-
-The day, according to any current valuation, had
-been a rather ridiculous failure; he had not so much as
-touched Madame Olenska's hand with his lips, or
-extracted one word from her that gave promise of farther
-opportunities.  Nevertheless, for a man sick with
-unsatisfied love, and parting for an indefinite period from
-the object of his passion, he felt himself almost
-humiliatingly calm and comforted.  It was the perfect balance
-she had held between their loyalty to others and their
-honesty to themselves that had so stirred and yet
-tranquillized him; a balance not artfully calculated, as her
-tears and her falterings showed, but resulting naturally
-from her unabashed sincerity.  It filled him with a tender
-awe, now the danger was over, and made him
-thank the fates that no personal vanity, no sense of
-playing a part before sophisticated witnesses, had
-tempted him to tempt her.  Even after they had clasped
-hands for good-bye at the Fall River station, and he
-had turned away alone, the conviction remained with
-him of having saved out of their meeting much more
-than he had sacrificed.
-
-He wandered back to the club, and went and sat
-alone in the deserted library, turning and turning over
-in his thoughts every separate second of their hours
-together.  It was clear to him, and it grew more clear
-under closer scrutiny, that if she should finally decide
-on returning to Europe--returning to her husband--it
-would not be because her old life tempted her, even on
-the new terms offered.  No: she would go only if she
-felt herself becoming a temptation to Archer, a
-temptation to fall away from the standard they had both set
-up.  Her choice would be to stay near him as long as he
-did not ask her to come nearer; and it depended on
-himself to keep her just there, safe but secluded.
-
-In the train these thoughts were still with him.  They
-enclosed him in a kind of golden haze, through which
-the faces about him looked remote and indistinct: he
-had a feeling that if he spoke to his fellow-travellers
-they would not understand what he was saying.  In this
-state of abstraction he found himself, the following
-morning, waking to the reality of a stifling September
-day in New York.  The heat-withered faces in the long
-train streamed past him, and he continued to stare at
-them through the same golden blur; but suddenly, as
-he left the station, one of the faces detached itself, came
-closer and forced itself upon his consciousness.  It was,
-as he instantly recalled, the face of the young man he
-had seen, the day before, passing out of the Parker
-House, and had noted as not conforming to type, as
-not having an American hotel face.
-
-The same thing struck him now; and again he became
-aware of a dim stir of former associations.  The
-young man stood looking about him with the dazed air
-of the foreigner flung upon the harsh mercies of American
-travel; then he advanced toward Archer, lifted his
-hat, and said in English:  "Surely, Monsieur, we met in
-London?"
-
-"Ah, to be sure: in London!"  Archer grasped his
-hand with curiosity and sympathy.  "So you DID get
-here, after all?" he exclaimed, casting a wondering eye
-on the astute and haggard little countenance of young
-Carfry's French tutor.
-
-"Oh, I got here--yes," M. Riviere smiled with drawn
-lips.  "But not for long; I return the day after tomorrow."
-He stood grasping his light valise in one neatly
-gloved hand, and gazing anxiously, perplexedly, almost
-appealingly, into Archer's face.
-
-"I wonder, Monsieur, since I've had the good luck to
-run across you, if I might--"
-
-"I was just going to suggest it: come to luncheon,
-won't you?  Down town, I mean: if you'll look me up in
-my office I'll take you to a very decent restaurant in
-that quarter."
-
-M. Riviere was visibly touched and surprised.  "You're
-too kind.  But I was only going to ask if you would tell
-me how to reach some sort of conveyance.  There are
-no porters, and no one here seems to listen--"
-
-"I know: our American stations must surprise you.
-When you ask for a porter they give you chewing-gum.
-But if you'll come along I'll extricate you; and you
-must really lunch with me, you know."
-
-The young man, after a just perceptible hesitation,
-replied, with profuse thanks, and in a tone that did not
-carry complete conviction, that he was already engaged;
-but when they had reached the comparative
-reassurance of the street he asked if he might call that
-afternoon.
-
-Archer, at ease in the midsummer leisure of the
-office, fixed an hour and scribbled his address, which the
-Frenchman pocketed with reiterated thanks and a wide
-flourish of his hat.  A horse-car received him, and Archer
-walked away.
-
-Punctually at the hour M. Riviere appeared, shaved,
-smoothed-out, but still unmistakably drawn and serious.
-Archer was alone in his office, and the young man,
-before accepting the seat he proffered, began abruptly:
-"I believe I saw you, sir, yesterday in Boston."
-
-The statement was insignificant enough, and Archer
-was about to frame an assent when his words were
-checked by something mysterious yet illuminating in
-his visitor's insistent gaze.
-
-"It is extraordinary, very extraordinary," M. Riviere
-continued, "that we should have met in the circumstances
-in which I find myself."
-
-"What circumstances?" Archer asked, wondering a
-little crudely if he needed money.
-
-M. Riviere continued to study him with tentative
-eyes.  "I have come, not to look for employment, as I
-spoke of doing when we last met, but on a special
-mission--"
-
-"Ah--!" Archer exclaimed.  In a flash the two
-meetings had connected themselves in his mind.  He paused
-to take in the situation thus suddenly lighted up for
-him, and M. Riviere also remained silent, as if aware
-that what he had said was enough.
-
-"A special mission," Archer at length repeated.
-
-The young Frenchman, opening his palms, raised
-them slightly, and the two men continued to look at
-each other across the office-desk till Archer roused
-himself to say:  "Do sit down"; whereupon M. Riviere
-bowed, took a distant chair, and again waited.
-
-"It was about this mission that you wanted to
-consult me?" Archer finally asked.
-
-M. Riviere bent his head.  "Not in my own behalf:
-on that score I--I have fully dealt with myself.  I should
-like--if I may--to speak to you about the Countess
-Olenska."
-
-Archer had known for the last few minutes that the
-words were coming; but when they came they sent the
-blood rushing to his temples as if he had been caught
-by a bent-back branch in a thicket.
-
-"And on whose behalf," he said, "do you wish to do
-this?"
-
-M. Riviere met the question sturdily.  "Well--I might
-say HERS, if it did not sound like a liberty.  Shall I say
-instead: on behalf of abstract justice?"
-
-Archer considered him ironically.  "In other words:
-you are Count Olenski's messenger?"
-
-He saw his blush more darkly reflected in M. Riviere's
-sallow countenance.  "Not to YOU, Monsieur.  If I come
-to you, it is on quite other grounds."
-
-"What right have you, in the circumstances, to BE on
-any other ground?" Archer retorted.  "If you're an
-emissary you're an emissary."
-
-The young man considered.  "My mission is over: as
-far as the Countess Olenska goes, it has failed."
-
-"I can't help that," Archer rejoined on the same note
-of irony.
-
-"No: but you can help--"  M. Riviere paused, turned
-his hat about in his still carefully gloved hands, looked
-into its lining and then back at Archer's face.  "You can
-help, Monsieur, I am convinced, to make it equally a
-failure with her family."
-
-Archer pushed back his chair and stood up.  "Well--
-and by God I will!" he exclaimed.  He stood with his
-hands in his pockets, staring down wrathfully at the
-little Frenchman, whose face, though he too had risen,
-was still an inch or two below the line of Archer's eyes.
-
-M. Riviere paled to his normal hue: paler than that
-his complexion could hardly turn.
-
-"Why the devil," Archer explosively continued,
-"should you have thought--since I suppose you're
-appealing to me on the ground of my relationship to
-Madame Olenska--that I should take a view contrary
-to the rest of her family?"
-
-The change of expression in M. Riviere's face was
-for a time his only answer.  His look passed from timidity
-to absolute distress: for a young man of his usually
-resourceful mien it would have been difficult to appear
-more disarmed and defenceless.  "Oh, Monsieur--"
-
-"I can't imagine," Archer continued, "why you should
-have come to me when there are others so much nearer
-to the Countess; still less why you thought I should be
-more accessible to the arguments I suppose you were
-sent over with."
-
-M. Riviere took this onslaught with a disconcerting
-humility.  "The arguments I want to present to you,
-Monsieur, are my own and not those I was sent over
-with."
-
-"Then I see still less reason for listening to them."
-
-M. Riviere again looked into his hat, as if considering
-whether these last words were not a sufficiently
-broad hint to put it on and be gone.  Then he spoke
-with sudden decision.  "Monsieur--will you tell me one
-thing?  Is it my right to be here that you question?  Or
-do you perhaps believe the whole matter to be already
-closed?"
-
-His quiet insistence made Archer feel the clumsiness
-of his own bluster.  M. Riviere had succeeded in imposing
-himself:  Archer, reddening slightly, dropped into
-his chair again, and signed to the young man to be
-seated.
-
-"I beg your pardon: but why isn't the matter closed?"
-
-M. Riviere gazed back at him with anguish.  "You
-do, then, agree with the rest of the family that, in face
-of the new proposals I have brought, it is hardly possible
-for Madame Olenska not to return to her husband?"
-
-"Good God!" Archer exclaimed; and his visitor gave
-out a low murmur of confirmation.
-
-"Before seeing her, I saw--at Count Olenski's
-request--Mr. Lovell Mingott, with whom I had several
-talks before going to Boston.  I understand that he
-represents his mother's view; and that Mrs. Manson
-Mingott's influence is great throughout her family."
-
-Archer sat silent, with the sense of clinging to the
-edge of a sliding precipice.  The discovery that he had
-been excluded from a share in these negotiations, and
-even from the knowledge that they were on foot, caused
-him a surprise hardly dulled by the acuter wonder of
-what he was learning.  He saw in a flash that if the
-family had ceased to consult him it was because some
-deep tribal instinct warned them that he was no longer
-on their side; and he recalled, with a start of comprehension,
-a remark of May's during their drive home
-from Mrs. Manson Mingott's on the day of the Archery
-Meeting:  "Perhaps, after all, Ellen would be happier
-with her husband."
-
-Even in the tumult of new discoveries Archer remembered
-his indignant exclamation, and the fact that since
-then his wife had never named Madame Olenska to
-him.  Her careless allusion had no doubt been the straw
-held up to see which way the wind blew; the result had
-been reported to the family, and thereafter Archer had
-been tacitly omitted from their counsels.  He admired
-the tribal discipline which made May bow to this decision.
-She would not have done so, he knew, had her
-conscience protested; but she probably shared the family
-view that Madame Olenska would be better off as
-an unhappy wife than as a separated one, and that
-there was no use in discussing the case with Newland,
-who had an awkward way of suddenly not seeming to
-take the most fundamental things for granted.
-
-Archer looked up and met his visitor's anxious gaze.
-"Don't you know, Monsieur--is it possible you don't
-know--that the family begin to doubt if they have the
-right to advise the Countess to refuse her husband's
-last proposals?"
-
-"The proposals you brought?"
-
-"The proposals I brought."
-
-It was on Archer's lips to exclaim that whatever he
-knew or did not know was no concern of M. Riviere's;
-but something in the humble and yet courageous tenacity
-of M. Riviere's gaze made him reject this conclusion,
-and he met the young man's question with another.
-"What is your object in speaking to me of this?"
-
-He had not to wait a moment for the answer.  "To
-beg you, Monsieur--to beg you with all the force I'm
-capable of--not to let her go back.--Oh, don't let
-her!" M. Riviere exclaimed.
-
-Archer looked at him with increasing astonishment.
-There was no mistaking the sincerity of his distress or
-the strength of his determination: he had evidently
-resolved to let everything go by the board but the
-supreme need of thus putting himself on record.  Archer
-considered.
-
-"May I ask," he said at length, "if this is the line you
-took with the Countess Olenska?"
-
-M. Riviere reddened, but his eyes did not falter.
-"No, Monsieur: I accepted my mission in good faith.  I
-really believed--for reasons I need not trouble you
-with--that it would be better for Madame Olenska to
-recover her situation, her fortune, the social consideration
-that her husband's standing gives her."
-
-"So I supposed: you could hardly have accepted such
-a mission otherwise."
-
-"I should not have accepted it."
-
-"Well, then--?"  Archer paused again, and their eyes
-met in another protracted scrutiny.
-
-"Ah, Monsieur, after I had seen her, after I had
-listened to her, I knew she was better off here."
-
-"You knew--?"
-
-"Monsieur, I discharged my mission faithfully: I put
-the Count's arguments, I stated his offers, without adding
-any comment of my own.  The Countess was good
-enough to listen patiently; she carried her goodness so
-far as to see me twice; she considered impartially all I
-had come to say.  And it was in the course of these two
-talks that I changed my mind, that I came to see things
-differently."
-
-"May I ask what led to this change?"
-
-"Simply seeing the change in HER," M. Riviere replied.
-
-"The change in her?  Then you knew her before?"
-
-The young man's colour again rose.  "I used to see
-her in her husband's house.  I have known Count Olenski
-for many years.  You can imagine that he would not
-have sent a stranger on such a mission."
-
-Archer's gaze, wandering away to the blank walls of
-the office, rested on a hanging calendar surmounted by
-the rugged features of the President of the United States.
-That such a conversation should be going on anywhere
-within the millions of square miles subject to his rule
-seemed as strange as anything that the imagination
-could invent.
-
-"The change--what sort of a change?"
-
-"Ah, Monsieur, if I could tell you!"  M. Riviere paused.
-"Tenez--the discovery, I suppose, of what I'd never
-thought of before: that she's an American.  And that if
-you're an American of HER kind--of your kind--things
-that are accepted in certain other societies, or at least
-put up with as part of a general convenient give-and-
-take--become unthinkable, simply unthinkable.  If
-Madame Olenska's relations understood what these things
-were, their opposition to her returning would no doubt
-be as unconditional as her own; but they seem to
-regard her husband's wish to have her back as proof of
-an irresistible longing for domestic life."  M. Riviere
-paused, and then added:  "Whereas it's far from being
-as simple as that."
-
-Archer looked back to the President of the United
-States, and then down at his desk and at the papers
-scattered on it.  For a second or two he could not trust
-himself to speak.  During this interval he heard M.
-Riviere's chair pushed back, and was aware that the
-young man had risen.  When he glanced up again he
-saw that his visitor was as moved as himself.
-
-"Thank you," Archer said simply.
-
-"There's nothing to thank me for, Monsieur: it is I,
-rather--"  M. Riviere broke off, as if speech for him
-too were difficult.  "I should like, though," he continued
-in a firmer voice, "to add one thing.  You asked me
-if I was in Count Olenski's employ.  I am at this moment:
-I returned to him, a few months ago, for reasons
-of private necessity such as may happen to any one
-who has persons, ill and older persons, dependent on
-him.  But from the moment that I have taken the step of
-coming here to say these things to you I consider myself
-discharged, and I shall tell him so on my return,
-and give him the reasons.  That's all, Monsieur."
-
-M. Riviere bowed and drew back a step.
-
-"Thank you," Archer said again, as their hands met.
-
-
-
-XXVI.
-
-Every year on the fifteenth of October Fifth Avenue
-opened its shutters, unrolled its carpets and hung
-up its triple layer of window-curtains.
-
-By the first of November this household ritual was
-over, and society had begun to look about and take
-stock of itself.  By the fifteenth the season was in full
-blast, Opera and theatres were putting forth their new
-attractions, dinner-engagements were accumulating, and
-dates for dances being fixed.  And punctually at about
-this time Mrs. Archer always said that New York was
-very much changed.
-
-Observing it from the lofty stand-point of a non-
-participant, she was able, with the help of Mr. Sillerton
-Jackson and Miss Sophy, to trace each new crack in its
-surface, and all the strange weeds pushing up between
-the ordered rows of social vegetables.  It had been one
-of the amusements of Archer's youth to wait for this
-annual pronouncement of his mother's, and to hear her
-enumerate the minute signs of disintegration that his
-careless gaze had overlooked.  For New York, to Mrs.
-Archer's mind, never changed without changing for the
-worse; and in this view Miss Sophy Jackson heartily
-concurred.
-
-Mr. Sillerton Jackson, as became a man of the world,
-suspended his judgment and listened with an amused
-impartiality to the lamentations of the ladies.  But even
-he never denied that New York had changed; and
-Newland Archer, in the winter of the second year of his
-marriage, was himself obliged to admit that if it had
-not actually changed it was certainly changing.
-
-These points had been raised, as usual, at Mrs.
-Archer's Thanksgiving dinner.  At the date when she was
-officially enjoined to give thanks for the blessings of
-the year it was her habit to take a mournful though not
-embittered stock of her world, and wonder what there
-was to be thankful for.  At any rate, not the state of
-society; society, if it could be said to exist, was rather a
-spectacle on which to call down Biblical imprecations--
-and in fact, every one knew what the Reverend Dr.
-Ashmore meant when he chose a text from Jeremiah
-(chap. ii., verse 25) for his Thanksgiving sermon.
-Dr. Ashmore, the new Rector of St. Matthew's, had
-been chosen because he was very "advanced": his
-sermons were considered bold in thought and novel in
-language.  When he fulminated against fashionable society
-he always spoke of its "trend"; and to Mrs. Archer
-it was terrifying and yet fascinating to feel herself part
-of a community that was trending.
-
-"There's no doubt that Dr. Ashmore is right: there IS
-a marked trend," she said, as if it were something
-visible and measurable, like a crack in a house.
-
-"It was odd, though, to preach about it on Thanksgiving,"
-Miss Jackson opined; and her hostess drily
-rejoined:  "Oh, he means us to give thanks for what's
-left."
-
-Archer had been wont to smile at these annual
-vaticinations of his mother's; but this year even he was
-obliged to acknowledge, as he listened to an enumeration
-of the changes, that the "trend" was visible.
-
-"The extravagance in dress--" Miss Jackson began.
-"Sillerton took me to the first night of the Opera, and I
-can only tell you that Jane Merry's dress was the only
-one I recognised from last year; and even that had had
-the front panel changed.  Yet I know she got it out from
-Worth only two years ago, because my seamstress always
-goes in to make over her Paris dresses before she
-wears them."
-
-"Ah, Jane Merry is one of US," said Mrs. Archer
-sighing, as if it were not such an enviable thing to be in
-an age when ladies were beginning to flaunt abroad
-their Paris dresses as soon as they were out of the
-Custom House, instead of letting them mellow under
-lock and key, in the manner of Mrs. Archer's contemporaries.
-
-"Yes; she's one of the few.  In my youth," Miss
-Jackson rejoined, "it was considered vulgar to dress in
-the newest fashions; and Amy Sillerton has always told
-me that in Boston the rule was to put away one's Paris
-dresses for two years.  Old Mrs. Baxter Pennilow, who
-did everything handsomely, used to import twelve a
-year, two velvet, two satin, two silk, and the other six
-of poplin and the finest cashmere.  It was a standing
-order, and as she was ill for two years before she died
-they found forty-eight Worth dresses that had never
-been taken out of tissue paper; and when the girls left
-off their mourning they were able to wear the first lot
-at the Symphony concerts without looking in advance
-of the fashion."
-
-"Ah, well, Boston is more conservative than New
-York; but I always think it's a safe rule for a lady to
-lay aside her French dresses for one season," Mrs.
-Archer conceded.
-
-"It was Beaufort who started the new fashion by
-making his wife clap her new clothes on her back as
-soon as they arrived: I must say at times it takes all
-Regina's distinction not to look like . . . like . . ."  Miss
-Jackson glanced around the table, caught Janey's bulging
-gaze, and took refuge in an unintelligible murmur.
-
-"Like her rivals," said Mr. Sillerton Jackson, with
-the air of producing an epigram.
-
-"Oh,--" the ladies murmured; and Mrs. Archer added,
-partly to distract her daughter's attention from forbidden
-topics:  "Poor Regina!  Her Thanksgiving hasn't
-been a very cheerful one, I'm afraid.  Have you heard
-the rumours about Beaufort's speculations, Sillerton?"
-
-Mr. Jackson nodded carelessly.  Every one had heard
-the rumours in question, and he scorned to confirm a
-tale that was already common property.
-
-A gloomy silence fell upon the party.  No one really
-liked Beaufort, and it was not wholly unpleasant to
-think the worst of his private life; but the idea of his
-having brought financial dishonour on his wife's family
-was too shocking to be enjoyed even by his enemies.
-Archer's New York tolerated hypocrisy in private relations;
-but in business matters it exacted a limpid and
-impeccable honesty.  It was a long time since any well-
-known banker had failed discreditably; but every one
-remembered the social extinction visited on the heads
-of the firm when the last event of the kind had
-happened.  It would be the same with the Beauforts, in spite
-of his power and her popularity; not all the leagued
-strength of the Dallas connection would save poor
-Regina if there were any truth in the reports of her
-husband's unlawful speculations.
-
-The talk took refuge in less ominous topics; but
-everything they touched on seemed to confirm Mrs.
-Archer's sense of an accelerated trend.
-
-"Of course, Newland, I know you let dear May go
-to Mrs. Struthers's Sunday evenings--" she began; and
-May interposed gaily:  "Oh, you know, everybody goes
-to Mrs. Struthers's now; and she was invited to Granny's
-last reception."
-
-It was thus, Archer reflected, that New York
-managed its transitions: conspiring to ignore them till they
-were well over, and then, in all good faith, imagining
-that they had taken place in a preceding age.  There was
-always a traitor in the citadel; and after he (or generally
-she) had surrendered the keys, what was the use of
-pretending that it was impregnable?  Once people had
-tasted of Mrs. Struthers's easy Sunday hospitality they
-were not likely to sit at home remembering that her
-champagne was transmuted Shoe-Polish.
-
-"I know, dear, I know," Mrs. Archer sighed.  "Such
-things have to be, I suppose, as long as AMUSEMENT is
-what people go out for; but I've never quite forgiven
-your cousin Madame Olenska for being the first person
-to countenance Mrs. Struthers."
-
-A sudden blush rose to young Mrs. Archer's face; it
-surprised her husband as much as the other guests
-about the table.  "Oh, ELLEN--" she murmured, much in
-the same accusing and yet deprecating tone in which
-her parents might have said:  "Oh, THE BLENKERS--."
-
-It was the note which the family had taken to sounding
-on the mention of the Countess Olenska's name,
-since she had surprised and inconvenienced them by
-remaining obdurate to her husband's advances; but on
-May's lips it gave food for thought, and Archer looked
-at her with the sense of strangeness that sometimes
-came over him when she was most in the tone of her
-environment.
-
-His mother, with less than her usual sensitiveness to
-atmosphere, still insisted:  "I've always thought that
-people like the Countess Olenska, who have lived in
-aristocratic societies, ought to help us to keep up our
-social distinctions, instead of ignoring them."
-
-May's blush remained permanently vivid: it seemed
-to have a significance beyond that implied by the
-recognition of Madame Olenska's social bad faith.
-
-"I've no doubt we all seem alike to foreigners," said
-Miss Jackson tartly.
-
-"I don't think Ellen cares for society; but nobody
-knows exactly what she does care for," May continued,
-as if she had been groping for something noncommittal.
-
-"Ah, well--" Mrs. Archer sighed again.
-
-Everybody knew that the Countess Olenska was no
-longer in the good graces of her family.  Even her
-devoted champion, old Mrs. Manson Mingott, had been
-unable to defend her refusal to return to her husband.
-The Mingotts had not proclaimed their disapproval
-aloud: their sense of solidarity was too strong.  They
-had simply, as Mrs. Welland said, "let poor Ellen find
-her own level"--and that, mortifyingly and
-incomprehensibly, was in the dim depths where the Blenkers
-prevailed, and "people who wrote" celebrated their
-untidy rites.  It was incredible, but it was a fact, that
-Ellen, in spite of all her opportunities and her privileges,
-had become simply "Bohemian."  The fact enforced
-the contention that she had made a fatal mistake
-in not returning to Count Olenski.  After all, a young
-woman's place was under her husband's roof, especially
-when she had left it in circumstances that . . .
-well . . . if one had cared to look into them . . .
-
-"Madame Olenska is a great favourite with the
-gentlemen," said Miss Sophy, with her air of wishing to
-put forth something conciliatory when she knew that
-she was planting a dart.
-
-"Ah, that's the danger that a young woman like
-Madame Olenska is always exposed to," Mrs. Archer
-mournfully agreed; and the ladies, on this conclusion,
-gathered up their trains to seek the carcel globes of the
-drawing-room, while Archer and Mr. Sillerton Jackson
-withdrew to the Gothic library.
-
-Once established before the grate, and consoling
-himself for the inadequacy of the dinner by the perfection
-of his cigar, Mr. Jackson became portentous and
-communicable.
-
-"If the Beaufort smash comes," he announced, "there
-are going to be disclosures."
-
-Archer raised his head quickly: he could never hear
-the name without the sharp vision of Beaufort's heavy
-figure, opulently furred and shod, advancing through
-the snow at Skuytercliff.
-
-"There's bound to be," Mr. Jackson continued, "the
-nastiest kind of a cleaning up.  He hasn't spent all his
-money on Regina."
-
-"Oh, well--that's discounted, isn't it?  My belief is
-he'll pull out yet," said the young man, wanting to
-change the subject.
-
-"Perhaps--perhaps.  I know he was to see some of
-the influential people today.  Of course," Mr. Jackson
-reluctantly conceded, "it's to be hoped they can tide
-him over--this time anyhow.  I shouldn't like to think
-of poor Regina's spending the rest of her life in some
-shabby foreign watering-place for bankrupts."
-
-Archer said nothing.  It seemed to him so natural--
-however tragic--that money ill-gotten should be cruelly
-expiated, that his mind, hardly lingering over Mrs.
-Beaufort's doom, wandered back to closer questions.
-What was the meaning of May's blush when the Countess
-Olenska had been mentioned?
-
-Four months had passed since the midsummer day
-that he and Madame Olenska had spent together; and
-since then he had not seen her.  He knew that she had
-returned to Washington, to the little house which she
-and Medora Manson had taken there: he had written
-to her once--a few words, asking when they were to
-meet again--and she had even more briefly replied:
-"Not yet."
-
-Since then there had been no farther communication
-between them, and he had built up within himself a
-kind of sanctuary in which she throned among his
-secret thoughts and longings.  Little by little it became
-the scene of his real life, of his only rational activities;
-thither he brought the books he read, the ideas and
-feelings which nourished him, his judgments and his
-visions.  Outside it, in the scene of his actual life, he
-moved with a growing sense of unreality and insufficiency,
-blundering against familiar prejudices and traditional
-points of view as an absent-minded man goes
-on bumping into the furniture of his own room.
-Absent--that was what he was: so absent from everything
-most densely real and near to those about him
-that it sometimes startled him to find they still
-imagined he was there.
-
-He became aware that Mr. Jackson was clearing his
-throat preparatory to farther revelations.
-
-"I don't know, of course, how far your wife's family
-are aware of what people say about--well, about Madame
-Olenska's refusal to accept her husband's latest
-offer."
-
-Archer was silent, and Mr. Jackson obliquely continued:
-"It's a pity--it's certainly a pity--that she refused
-it."
-
-"A pity?  In God's name, why?"
-
-Mr. Jackson looked down his leg to the unwrinkled
-sock that joined it to a glossy pump.
-
-"Well--to put it on the lowest ground--what's she
-going to live on now?"
-
-"Now--?"
-
-"If Beaufort--"
-
-Archer sprang up, his fist banging down on the black
-walnut-edge of the writing-table.  The wells of the brass
-double-inkstand danced in their sockets.
-
-"What the devil do you mean, sir?"
-
-Mr. Jackson, shifting himself slightly in his chair,
-turned a tranquil gaze on the young man's burning
-face.
-
-"Well--I have it on pretty good authority--in fact,
-on old Catherine's herself--that the family reduced
-Countess Olenska's allowance considerably when she
-definitely refused to go back to her husband; and as, by
-this refusal, she also forfeits the money settled on her
-when she married--which Olenski was ready to make
-over to her if she returned--why, what the devil do YOU
-mean, my dear boy, by asking me what I mean?" Mr.
-Jackson good-humouredly retorted.
-
-Archer moved toward the mantelpiece and bent over
-to knock his ashes into the grate.
-
-"I don't know anything of Madame Olenska's private
-affairs; but I don't need to, to be certain that what
-you insinuate--"
-
-"Oh, I don't: it's Lefferts, for one," Mr. Jackson
-interposed.
-
-"Lefferts--who made love to her and got snubbed
-for it!" Archer broke out contemptuously.
-
-"Ah--DID he?" snapped the other, as if this were
-exactly the fact he had been laying a trap for.  He still
-sat sideways from the fire, so that his hard old gaze
-held Archer's face as if in a spring of steel.
-
-"Well, well: it's a pity she didn't go back before
-Beaufort's cropper," he repeated.  "If she goes NOW, and
-if he fails, it will only confirm the general impression:
-which isn't by any means peculiar to Lefferts, by the
-way."
-
-"Oh, she won't go back now: less than ever!"  Archer
-had no sooner said it than he had once more the feeling
-that it was exactly what Mr. Jackson had been waiting
-for.
-
-The old gentleman considered him attentively.  "That's
-your opinion, eh?  Well, no doubt you know.  But everybody
-will tell you that the few pennies Medora Manson
-has left are all in Beaufort's hands; and how the
-two women are to keep their heads above water unless
-he does, I can't imagine.  Of course, Madame Olenska
-may still soften old Catherine, who's been the most
-inexorably opposed to her staying; and old Catherine
-could make her any allowance she chooses.  But we all
-know that she hates parting with good money; and the
-rest of the family have no particular interest in keeping
-Madame Olenska here."
-
-Archer was burning with unavailing wrath: he was
-exactly in the state when a man is sure to do something
-stupid, knowing all the while that he is doing it.
-
-He saw that Mr. Jackson had been instantly struck
-by the fact that Madame Olenska's differences with her
-grandmother and her other relations were not known
-to him, and that the old gentleman had drawn his own
-conclusions as to the reasons for Archer's exclusion
-from the family councils.  This fact warned Archer to
-go warily; but the insinuations about Beaufort made
-him reckless.  He was mindful, however, if not of his
-own danger, at least of the fact that Mr. Jackson was
-under his mother's roof, and consequently his guest.
-Old New York scrupulously observed the etiquette of
-hospitality, and no discussion with a guest was ever
-allowed to degenerate into a disagreement.
-
-"Shall we go up and join my mother?" he suggested
-curtly, as Mr. Jackson's last cone of ashes dropped into
-the brass ashtray at his elbow.
-
-On the drive homeward May remained oddly silent;
-through the darkness, he still felt her enveloped in her
-menacing blush.  What its menace meant he could not
-guess: but he was sufficiently warned by the fact that
-Madame Olenska's name had evoked it.
-
-They went upstairs, and he turned into the library.
-She usually followed him; but he heard her passing
-down the passage to her bedroom.
-
-"May!" he called out impatiently; and she came
-back, with a slight glance of surprise at his tone.
-
-"This lamp is smoking again; I should think the
-servants might see that it's kept properly trimmed," he
-grumbled nervously.
-
-"I'm so sorry: it shan't happen again," she answered,
-in the firm bright tone she had learned from her mother;
-and it exasperated Archer to feel that she was already
-beginning to humour him like a younger Mr. Welland.
-She bent over to lower the wick, and as the light struck
-up on her white shoulders and the clear curves of her
-face he thought:  "How young she is!  For what endless
-years this life will have to go on!"
-
-He felt, with a kind of horror, his own strong youth
-and the bounding blood in his veins.  "Look here," he
-said suddenly, "I may have to go to Washington for a
-few days--soon; next week perhaps."
-
-Her hand remained on the key of the lamp as she
-turned to him slowly.  The heat from its flame had
-brought back a glow to her face, but it paled as she
-looked up.
-
-"On business?" she asked, in a tone which implied
-that there could be no other conceivable reason, and
-that she had put the question automatically, as if merely
-to finish his own sentence.
-
-"On business, naturally.  There's a patent case coming
-up before the Supreme Court--"  He gave the name
-of the inventor, and went on furnishing details with all
-Lawrence Lefferts's practised glibness, while she listened
-attentively, saying at intervals:  "Yes, I see."
-
-"The change will do you good," she said simply,
-when he had finished; "and you must be sure to go and
-see Ellen," she added, looking him straight in the eyes
-with her cloudless smile, and speaking in the tone she
-might have employed in urging him not to neglect some
-irksome family duty.
-
-It was the only word that passed between them on
-the subject; but in the code in which they had both
-been trained it meant:  "Of course you understand that
-I know all that people have been saying about Ellen,
-and heartily sympathise with my family in their effort
-to get her to return to her husband.  I also know that,
-for some reason you have not chosen to tell me, you
-have advised her against this course, which all the older
-men of the family, as well as our grandmother, agree in
-approving; and that it is owing to your encouragement
-that Ellen defies us all, and exposes herself to the kind
-of criticism of which Mr. Sillerton Jackson probably
-gave you, this evening, the hint that has made you so
-irritable. . . .  Hints have indeed not been wanting; but
-since you appear unwilling to take them from others, I
-offer you this one myself, in the only form in which
-well-bred people of our kind can communicate
-unpleasant things to each other: by letting you understand
-that I know you mean to see Ellen when you are in
-Washington, and are perhaps going there expressly for
-that purpose; and that, since you are sure to see her, I
-wish you to do so with my full and explicit approval--
-and to take the opportunity of letting her know what
-the course of conduct you have encouraged her in is
-likely to lead to."
-
-Her hand was still on the key of the lamp when the
-last word of this mute message reached him.  She turned
-the wick down, lifted off the globe, and breathed on
-the sulky flame.
-
-"They smell less if one blows them out," she explained,
-with her bright housekeeping air.  On the threshold
-she turned and paused for his kiss.
-
-
-
-XXVII.
-
-Wall Street, the next day, had more reassuring
-reports of Beaufort's situation.  They were not
-definite, but they were hopeful.  It was generally understood
-that he could call on powerful influences in case
-of emergency, and that he had done so with success;
-and that evening, when Mrs. Beaufort appeared at the
-Opera wearing her old smile and a new emerald necklace,
-society drew a breath of relief.
-
-New York was inexorable in its condemnation of
-business irregularities.  So far there had been no exception
-to its tacit rule that those who broke the law of
-probity must pay; and every one was aware that even
-Beaufort and Beaufort's wife would be offered up
-unflinchingly to this principle.  But to be obliged to offer
-them up would be not only painful but inconvenient.
-The disappearance of the Beauforts would leave a
-considerable void in their compact little circle; and those
-who were too ignorant or too careless to shudder at the
-moral catastrophe bewailed in advance the loss of the
-best ball-room in New York.
-
-Archer had definitely made up his mind to go to
-Washington.  He was waiting only for the opening of
-the law-suit of which he had spoken to May, so that its
-date might coincide with that of his visit; but on the
-following Tuesday he learned from Mr. Letterblair that
-the case might be postponed for several weeks.  Nevertheless,
-he went home that afternoon determined in any
-event to leave the next evening.  The chances were that
-May, who knew nothing of his professional life, and
-had never shown any interest in it, would not learn of
-the postponement, should it take place, nor remember
-the names of the litigants if they were mentioned before
-her; and at any rate he could no longer put off seeing
-Madame Olenska.  There were too many things that he
-must say to her.
-
-On the Wednesday morning, when he reached his
-office, Mr. Letterblair met him with a troubled face.
-Beaufort, after all, had not managed to "tide over";
-but by setting afloat the rumour that he had done so he
-had reassured his depositors, and heavy payments had
-poured into the bank till the previous evening, when
-disturbing reports again began to predominate.  In
-consequence, a run on the bank had begun, and its doors
-were likely to close before the day was over.  The ugliest
-things were being said of Beaufort's dastardly
-manoeuvre, and his failure promised to be one of the
-most discreditable in the history of Wall Street.
-
-The extent of the calamity left Mr. Letterblair white
-and incapacitated.  "I've seen bad things in my time;
-but nothing as bad as this.  Everybody we know will be
-hit, one way or another.  And what will be done about
-Mrs. Beaufort?  What CAN be done about her?  I pity
-Mrs. Manson Mingott as much as anybody: coming at
-her age, there's no knowing what effect this affair may
-have on her.  She always believed in Beaufort--she made
-a friend of him!  And there's the whole Dallas connection:
-poor Mrs. Beaufort is related to every one of you.
-Her only chance would be to leave her husband--yet
-how can any one tell her so?  Her duty is at his side;
-and luckily she seems always to have been blind to his
-private weaknesses."
-
-There was a knock, and Mr. Letterblair turned his
-head sharply.  "What is it?  I can't be disturbed."
-
-A clerk brought in a letter for Archer and withdrew.
-Recognising his wife's hand, the young man opened
-the envelope and read:  "Won't you please come up
-town as early as you can?  Granny had a slight stroke
-last night.  In some mysterious way she found out before
-any one else this awful news about the bank.
-Uncle Lovell is away shooting, and the idea of the
-disgrace has made poor Papa so nervous that he has a
-temperature and can't leave his room.  Mamma needs
-you dreadfully, and I do hope you can get away at once
-and go straight to Granny's."
-
-Archer handed the note to his senior partner, and a
-few minutes later was crawling northward in a crowded
-horse-car, which he exchanged at Fourteenth Street for
-one of the high staggering omnibuses of the Fifth Avenue
-line.  It was after twelve o'clock when this laborious
-vehicle dropped him at old Catherine's.  The
-sitting-room window on the ground floor, where she
-usually throned, was tenanted by the inadequate figure
-of her daughter, Mrs. Welland, who signed a haggard
-welcome as she caught sight of Archer; and at the door
-he was met by May.  The hall wore the unnatural
-appearance peculiar to well-kept houses suddenly
-invaded by illness: wraps and furs lay in heaps on the
-chairs, a doctor's bag and overcoat were on the table,
-and beside them letters and cards had already piled up
-unheeded.
-
-May looked pale but smiling: Dr. Bencomb, who
-had just come for the second time, took a more hopeful
-view, and Mrs. Mingott's dauntless determination to
-live and get well was already having an effect on her
-family.  May led Archer into the old lady's sitting-room,
-where the sliding doors opening into the bedroom had
-been drawn shut, and the heavy yellow damask portieres
-dropped over them; and here Mrs. Welland communicated
-to him in horrified undertones the details of
-the catastrophe.  It appeared that the evening before
-something dreadful and mysterious had happened.  At
-about eight o'clock, just after Mrs. Mingott had finished
-the game of solitaire that she always played after
-dinner, the door-bell had rung, and a lady so thickly
-veiled that the servants did not immediately recognise
-her had asked to be received.
-
-The butler, hearing a familiar voice, had thrown
-open the sitting-room door, announcing:  "Mrs. Julius
-Beaufort"--and had then closed it again on the two
-ladies.  They must have been together, he thought, about
-an hour.  When Mrs. Mingott's bell rang Mrs. Beaufort
-had already slipped away unseen, and the old lady,
-white and vast and terrible, sat alone in her great chair,
-and signed to the butler to help her into her room.  She
-seemed, at that time, though obviously distressed, in
-complete control of her body and brain.  The mulatto
-maid put her to bed, brought her a cup of tea as usual,
-laid everything straight in the room, and went away;
-but at three in the morning the bell rang again, and the
-two servants, hastening in at this unwonted summons
-(for old Catherine usually slept like a baby), had found
-their mistress sitting up against her pillows with a
-crooked smile on her face and one little hand hanging
-limp from its huge arm.
-
-The stroke had clearly been a slight one, for she was
-able to articulate and to make her wishes known; and
-soon after the doctor's first visit she had begun to
-regain control of her facial muscles.  But the alarm had
-been great; and proportionately great was the indignation
-when it was gathered from Mrs. Mingott's fragmentary
-phrases that Regina Beaufort had come to ask
-her--incredible effrontery!--to back up her husband,
-see them through--not to "desert" them, as she called
-it--in fact to induce the whole family to cover and
-condone their monstrous dishonour.
-
-"I said to her:  `Honour's always been honour, and
-honesty honesty, in Manson Mingott's house, and will
-be till I'm carried out of it feet first,'" the old woman
-had stammered into her daughter's ear, in the thick
-voice of the partly paralysed.  "And when she said:  `But
-my name, Auntie--my name's Regina Dallas,' I said:  `It
-was Beaufort when he covered you with jewels, and it's
-got to stay Beaufort now that he's covered you with
-shame.'"
-
-So much, with tears and gasps of horror, Mrs. Welland
-imparted, blanched and demolished by the unwonted
-obligation of having at last to fix her eyes on
-the unpleasant and the discreditable.  "If only I could
-keep it from your father-in-law: he always says:
-`Augusta, for pity's sake, don't destroy my last illusions'
---and how am I to prevent his knowing these horrors?"
-the poor lady wailed.
-
-"After all, Mamma, he won't have SEEN them," her
-daughter suggested; and Mrs. Welland sighed:  "Ah,
-no; thank heaven he's safe in bed.  And Dr. Bencomb
-has promised to keep him there till poor Mamma is
-better, and Regina has been got away somewhere."
-
-Archer had seated himself near the window and was
-gazing out blankly at the deserted thoroughfare.  It was
-evident that he had been summoned rather for the
-moral support of the stricken ladies than because of
-any specific aid that he could render.  Mr. Lovell Mingott
-had been telegraphed for, and messages were being
-despatched by hand to the members of the family living
-in New York; and meanwhile there was nothing to do
-but to discuss in hushed tones the consequences of
-Beaufort's dishonour and of his wife's unjustifiable
-action.
-
-Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who had been in another room
-writing notes, presently reappeared, and added her voice
-to the discussion.  In THEIR day, the elder ladies agreed,
-the wife of a man who had done anything disgraceful
-in business had only one idea: to efface herself, to
-disappear with him.  "There was the case of poor Grandmamma
-Spicer; your great-grandmother, May.  Of
-course," Mrs. Welland hastened to add, "your great-
-grandfather's money difficulties were private--losses
-at cards, or signing a note for somebody--I never quite
-knew, because Mamma would never speak of it.  But
-she was brought up in the country because her mother
-had to leave New York after the disgrace, whatever it
-was: they lived up the Hudson alone, winter and summer,
-till Mamma was sixteen.  It would never have
-occurred to Grandmamma Spicer to ask the family to
-`countenance' her, as I understand Regina calls it; though
-a private disgrace is nothing compared to the scandal
-of ruining hundreds of innocent people."
-
-"Yes, it would be more becoming in Regina to hide
-her own countenance than to talk about other people's,"
-Mrs. Lovell Mingott agreed.  "I understand that
-the emerald necklace she wore at the Opera last Friday
-had been sent on approval from Ball and Black's in the
-afternoon.  I wonder if they'll ever get it back?"
-
-Archer listened unmoved to the relentless chorus.
-The idea of absolute financial probity as the first law of
-a gentleman's code was too deeply ingrained in him for
-sentimental considerations to weaken it.  An adventurer
-like Lemuel Struthers might build up the millions of his
-Shoe Polish on any number of shady dealings; but
-unblemished honesty was the noblesse oblige of old
-financial New York.  Nor did Mrs. Beaufort's fate greatly
-move Archer.  He felt, no doubt, more sorry for her
-than her indignant relatives; but it seemed to him that
-the tie between husband and wife, even if breakable in
-prosperity, should be indissoluble in misfortune.  As
-Mr. Letterblair had said, a wife's place was at her
-husband's side when he was in trouble; but society's
-place was not at his side, and Mrs. Beaufort's cool
-assumption that it was seemed almost to make her his
-accomplice.  The mere idea of a woman's appealing to
-her family to screen her husband's business dishonour
-was inadmissible, since it was the one thing that the
-Family, as an institution, could not do.
-
-The mulatto maid called Mrs. Lovell Mingott into
-the hall, and the latter came back in a moment with a
-frowning brow.
-
-"She wants me to telegraph for Ellen Olenska.  I had
-written to Ellen, of course, and to Medora; but now it
-seems that's not enough.  I'm to telegraph to her
-immediately, and to tell her that she's to come alone."
-
-The announcement was received in silence.  Mrs.
-Welland sighed resignedly, and May rose from her seat and
-went to gather up some newspapers that had been
-scattered on the floor.
-
-"I suppose it must be done," Mrs. Lovell Mingott
-continued, as if hoping to be contradicted; and May
-turned back toward the middle of the room.
-
-"Of course it must be done," she said.  "Granny
-knows what she wants, and we must carry out all her
-wishes.  Shall I write the telegram for you, Auntie?  If it
-goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrow morning's
-train."  She pronounced the syllables of the name
-with a peculiar clearness, as if she had tapped on two
-silver bells.
-
-"Well, it can't go at once.  Jasper and the pantry-boy
-are both out with notes and telegrams."
-
-May turned to her husband with a smile.  "But here's
-Newland, ready to do anything.  Will you take the
-telegram, Newland?  There'll be just time before luncheon."
-
-Archer rose with a murmur of readiness, and she
-seated herself at old Catherine's rosewood "Bonheur
-du Jour," and wrote out the message in her large
-immature hand.  When it was written she blotted it
-neatly and handed it to Archer.
-
-"What a pity," she said, "that you and Ellen will
-cross each other on the way!--Newland," she added,
-turning to her mother and aunt, "is obliged to go to
-Washington about a patent law-suit that is coming up
-before the Supreme Court.  I suppose Uncle Lovell will
-be back by tomorrow night, and with Granny improving
-so much it doesn't seem right to ask Newland to
-give up an important engagement for the firm--does
-it?"
-
-She paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland
-hastily declared:  "Oh, of course not, darling.  Your
-Granny would be the last person to wish it."  As Archer
-left the room with the telegram, he heard his mother-in-
-law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott:  "But
-why on earth she should make you telegraph for Ellen
-Olenska--" and May's clear voice rejoin:  "Perhaps it's
-to urge on her again that after all her duty is with her
-husband."
-
-The outer door closed on Archer and he walked
-hastily away toward the telegraph office.
-
-
-
-XXVIII.
-
-"Ol-ol--howjer spell it, anyhow?" asked the tart
-young lady to whom Archer had pushed his wife's
-telegram across the brass ledge of the Western Union
-office.
-
-"Olenska--O-len-ska," he repeated, drawing back
-the message in order to print out the foreign syllables
-above May's rambling script.
-
-"It's an unlikely name for a New York telegraph
-office; at least in this quarter," an unexpected voice
-observed; and turning around Archer saw Lawrence
-Lefferts at his elbow, pulling an imperturbable moustache
-and affecting not to glance at the message.
-
-"Hallo, Newland: thought I'd catch you here.  I've
-just heard of old Mrs. Mingott's stroke; and as I was
-on my way to the house I saw you turning down this
-street and nipped after you.  I suppose you've come
-from there?"
-
-Archer nodded, and pushed his telegram under the
-lattice.
-
-"Very bad, eh?" Lefferts continued.  "Wiring to the
-family, I suppose.  I gather it IS bad, if you're including
-Countess Olenska."
-
-Archer's lips stiffened; he felt a savage impulse to
-dash his fist into the long vain handsome face at his side.
-
-"Why?" he questioned.
-
-Lefferts, who was known to shrink from discussion,
-raised his eye-brows with an ironic grimace that warned
-the other of the watching damsel behind the lattice.
-Nothing could be worse "form" the look reminded
-Archer, than any display of temper in a public place.
-
-Archer had never been more indifferent to the
-requirements of form; but his impulse to do Lawrence
-Lefferts a physical injury was only momentary.  The
-idea of bandying Ellen Olenska's name with him at
-such a time, and on whatsoever provocation, was
-unthinkable.  He paid for his telegram, and the two young
-men went out together into the street.  There Archer,
-having regained his self-control, went on:  "Mrs. Mingott
-is much better: the doctor feels no anxiety whatever";
-and Lefferts, with profuse expressions of relief,
-asked him if he had heard that there were beastly bad
-rumours again about Beaufort. . . .
-
-That afternoon the announcement of the Beaufort failure
-was in all the papers.  It overshadowed the report of
-Mrs. Manson Mingott's stroke, and only the few who
-had heard of the mysterious connection between the
-two events thought of ascribing old Catherine's illness
-to anything but the accumulation of flesh and years.
-
-The whole of New York was darkened by the tale of
-Beaufort's dishonour.  There had never, as Mr. Letterblair
-said, been a worse case in his memory, nor, for that
-matter, in the memory of the far-off Letterblair who
-had given his name to the firm.  The bank had continued
-to take in money for a whole day after its failure
-was inevitable; and as many of its clients belonged to
-one or another of the ruling clans, Beaufort's duplicity
-seemed doubly cynical.  If Mrs. Beaufort had not taken
-the tone that such misfortunes (the word was her own)
-were "the test of friendship," compassion for her might
-have tempered the general indignation against her husband.
-As it was--and especially after the object of her
-nocturnal visit to Mrs. Manson Mingott had become
-known--her cynicism was held to exceed his; and she
-had not the excuse--nor her detractors the satisfaction--
-of pleading that she was "a foreigner."  It was some
-comfort (to those whose securities were not in jeopardy)
-to be able to remind themselves that Beaufort
-WAS; but, after all, if a Dallas of South Carolina took
-his view of the case, and glibly talked of his soon being
-"on his feet again," the argument lost its edge, and
-there was nothing to do but to accept this awful evidence
-of the indissolubility of marriage.  Society must
-manage to get on without the Beauforts, and there was
-an end of it--except indeed for such hapless victims of
-the disaster as Medora Manson, the poor old Miss
-Lannings, and certain other misguided ladies of good
-family who, if only they had listened to Mr. Henry van
-der Luyden . . .
-
-"The best thing the Beauforts can do," said Mrs.
-Archer, summing it up as if she were pronouncing a
-diagnosis and prescribing a course of treatment, "is to
-go and live at Regina's little place in North Carolina.
-Beaufort has always kept a racing stable, and he had
-better breed trotting horses.  I should say he had all the
-qualities of a successful horsedealer."  Every one agreed
-with her, but no one condescended to enquire what the
-Beauforts really meant to do.
-
-The next day Mrs. Manson Mingott was much better:
-she recovered her voice sufficiently to give orders
-that no one should mention the Beauforts to her again,
-and asked--when Dr. Bencomb appeared--what in the
-world her family meant by making such a fuss about
-her health.
-
-"If people of my age WILL eat chicken-salad in the
-evening what are they to expect?" she enquired; and,
-the doctor having opportunely modified her dietary,
-the stroke was transformed into an attack of indigestion.
-But in spite of her firm tone old Catherine did not
-wholly recover her former attitude toward life.  The
-growing remoteness of old age, though it had not
-diminished her curiosity about her neighbours, had blunted
-her never very lively compassion for their troubles; and
-she seemed to have no difficulty in putting the Beaufort
-disaster out of her mind.  But for the first time she
-became absorbed in her own symptoms, and began to
-take a sentimental interest in certain members of her
-family to whom she had hitherto been contemptuously
-indifferent.
-
-Mr. Welland, in particular, had the privilege of
-attracting her notice.  Of her sons-in-law he was the one
-she had most consistently ignored; and all his wife's
-efforts to represent him as a man of forceful character
-and marked intellectual ability (if he had only "chosen")
-had been met with a derisive chuckle.  But his
-eminence as a valetudinarian now made him an object
-of engrossing interest, and Mrs. Mingott issued an
-imperial summons to him to come and compare diets
-as soon as his temperature permitted; for old Catherine
-was now the first to recognise that one could not be
-too careful about temperatures.
-
-Twenty-four hours after Madame Olenska's summons
-a telegram announced that she would arrive from Washington
-on the evening of the following day.  At the
-Wellands', where the Newland Archers chanced to be
-lunching, the question as to who should meet her at
-Jersey City was immediately raised; and the material
-difficulties amid which the Welland household struggled
-as if it had been a frontier outpost, lent animation
-to the debate.  It was agreed that Mrs. Welland could
-not possibly go to Jersey City because she was to
-accompany her husband to old Catherine's that afternoon,
-and the brougham could not be spared, since, if
-Mr. Welland were "upset" by seeing his mother-in-law
-for the first time after her attack, he might have to be
-taken home at a moment's notice.  The Welland sons
-would of course be "down town," Mr. Lovell Mingott
-would be just hurrying back from his shooting, and the
-Mingott carriage engaged in meeting him; and one
-could not ask May, at the close of a winter afternoon,
-to go alone across the ferry to Jersey City, even in her
-own carriage.  Nevertheless, it might appear inhospitable
---and contrary to old Catherine's express wishes--if
-Madame Olenska were allowed to arrive without any
-of the family being at the station to receive her.  It was
-just like Ellen, Mrs. Welland's tired voice implied, to
-place the family in such a dilemma.  "It's always one
-thing after another," the poor lady grieved, in one of
-her rare revolts against fate; "the only thing that makes
-me think Mamma must be less well than Dr. Bencomb
-will admit is this morbid desire to have Ellen come at
-once, however inconvenient it is to meet her."
-
-The words had been thoughtless, as the utterances of
-impatience often are; and Mr. Welland was upon them
-with a pounce.
-
-"Augusta," he said, turning pale and laying down his
-fork, "have you any other reason for thinking that
-Bencomb is less to be relied on than he was?  Have you
-noticed that he has been less conscientious than usual
-in following up my case or your mother's?"
-
-It was Mrs. Welland's turn to grow pale as the
-endless consequences of her blunder unrolled themselves
-before her; but she managed to laugh, and take a
-second helping of scalloped oysters, before she said,
-struggling back into her old armour of cheerfulness:
-"My dear, how could you imagine such a thing?  I only
-meant that, after the decided stand Mamma took about
-its being Ellen's duty to go back to her husband, it
-seems strange that she should be seized with this sudden
-whim to see her, when there are half a dozen other
-grandchildren that she might have asked for.  But we
-must never forget that Mamma, in spite of her wonderful
-vitality, is a very old woman."
-
-Mr. Welland's brow remained clouded, and it was
-evident that his perturbed imagination had fastened at
-once on this last remark.  "Yes: your mother's a very
-old woman; and for all we know Bencomb may not be
-as successful with very old people.  As you say, my
-dear, it's always one thing after another; and in
-another ten or fifteen years I suppose I shall have the
-pleasing duty of looking about for a new doctor.  It's
-always better to make such a change before it's absolutely
-necessary."  And having arrived at this Spartan
-decision Mr. Welland firmly took up his fork.
-
-"But all the while," Mrs. Welland began again, as
-she rose from the luncheon-table, and led the way into
-the wilderness of purple satin and malachite known as
-the back drawing-room, "I don't see how Ellen's to be
-got here tomorrow evening; and I do like to have
-things settled for at least twenty-four hours ahead."
-
-Archer turned from the fascinated contemplation of
-a small painting representing two Cardinals carousing,
-in an octagonal ebony frame set with medallions of onyx.
-
-"Shall I fetch her?" he proposed.  "I can easily get
-away from the office in time to meet the brougham at
-the ferry, if May will send it there."  His heart was
-beating excitedly as he spoke.
-
-Mrs. Welland heaved a sigh of gratitude, and May, who
-had moved away to the window, turned to shed on him
-a beam of approval.  "So you see, Mamma, everything
-WILL be settled twenty-four hours in advance," she said,
-stooping over to kiss her mother's troubled forehead.
-
-May's brougham awaited her at the door, and she was
-to drive Archer to Union Square, where he could pick
-up a Broadway car to carry him to the office.  As she
-settled herself in her corner she said:  "I didn't want to
-worry Mamma by raising fresh obstacles; but how can
-you meet Ellen tomorrow, and bring her back to New
-York, when you're going to Washington?"
-
-"Oh, I'm not going," Archer answered.
-
-"Not going?  Why, what's happened?"  Her voice was
-as clear as a bell, and full of wifely solicitude.
-
-"The case is off--postponed."
-
-"Postponed?  How odd!  I saw a note this morning
-from Mr. Letterblair to Mamma saying that he was
-going to Washington tomorrow for the big patent case
-that he was to argue before the Supreme Court.  You
-said it was a patent case, didn't you?"
-
-"Well--that's it: the whole office can't go.  Letterblair
-decided to go this morning."
-
-"Then it's NOT postponed?" she continued, with an
-insistence so unlike her that he felt the blood rising to
-his face, as if he were blushing for her unwonted lapse
-from all the traditional delicacies.
-
-"No: but my going is," he answered, cursing the
-unnecessary explanations that he had given when he
-had announced his intention of going to Washington,
-and wondering where he had read that clever liars give
-details, but that the cleverest do not.  It did not hurt
-him half as much to tell May an untruth as to see her
-trying to pretend that she had not detected him.
-
-"I'm not going till later on: luckily for the
-convenience of your family," he continued, taking base
-refuge in sarcasm.  As he spoke he felt that she was looking
-at him, and he turned his eyes to hers in order not to
-appear to be avoiding them.  Their glances met for a
-second, and perhaps let them into each other's meanings
-more deeply than either cared to go.
-
-"Yes; it IS awfully convenient," May brightly agreed,
-"that you should be able to meet Ellen after all; you
-saw how much Mamma appreciated your offering to
-do it."
-
-"Oh, I'm delighted to do it."  The carriage stopped,
-and as he jumped out she leaned to him and laid her
-hand on his.  "Good-bye, dearest," she said, her eyes so
-blue that he wondered afterward if they had shone on
-him through tears.
-
-He turned away and hurried across Union Square,
-repeating to himself, in a sort of inward chant:  "It's all
-of two hours from Jersey City to old Catherine's.  It's
-all of two hours--and it may be more."
-
-
-
-XXIX.
-
-His wife's dark blue brougham (with the wedding
-varnish still on it) met Archer at the ferry, and
-conveyed him luxuriously to the Pennsylvania terminus
-in Jersey City.
-
-It was a sombre snowy afternoon, and the gas-lamps
-were lit in the big reverberating station.  As he paced
-the platform, waiting for the Washington express, he
-remembered that there were people who thought there
-would one day be a tunnel under the Hudson through
-which the trains of the Pennsylvania railway would run
-straight into New York.  They were of the brotherhood
-of visionaries who likewise predicted the building of
-ships that would cross the Atlantic in five days, the
-invention of a flying machine, lighting by electricity,
-telephonic communication without wires, and other
-Arabian Night marvels.
-
-"I don't care which of their visions comes true,"
-Archer mused, "as long as the tunnel isn't built yet."  In
-his senseless school-boy happiness he pictured Madame
-Olenska's descent from the train, his discovery of her a
-long way off, among the throngs of meaningless faces,
-her clinging to his arm as he guided her to the carriage,
-their slow approach to the wharf among slipping horses,
-laden carts, vociferating teamsters, and then the startling
-quiet of the ferry-boat, where they would sit side
-by side under the snow, in the motionless carriage,
-while the earth seemed to glide away under them,
-rolling to the other side of the sun.  It was incredible,
-the number of things he had to say to her, and in what
-eloquent order they were forming themselves on his
-lips . . .
-
-The clanging and groaning of the train came nearer,
-and it staggered slowly into the station like a prey-
-laden monster into its lair.  Archer pushed forward,
-elbowing through the crowd, and staring blindly into
-window after window of the high-hung carriages.  And
-then, suddenly, he saw Madame Olenska's pale and
-surprised face close at hand, and had again the mortified
-sensation of having forgotten what she looked like.
-
-They reached each other, their hands met, and he
-drew her arm through his.  "This way--I have the
-carriage," he said.
-
-After that it all happened as he had dreamed.  He
-helped her into the brougham with her bags, and had
-afterward the vague recollection of having properly
-reassured her about her grandmother and given her a
-summary of the Beaufort situation (he was struck by
-the softness of her:  "Poor Regina!").  Meanwhile the
-carriage had worked its way out of the coil about the
-station, and they were crawling down the slippery
-incline to the wharf, menaced by swaying coal-carts,
-bewildered horses, dishevelled express-wagons, and an
-empty hearse--ah, that hearse!  She shut her eyes as it
-passed, and clutched at Archer's hand.
-
-"If only it doesn't mean--poor Granny!"
-
-"Oh, no, no--she's much better--she's all right, really.
-There--we've passed it!" he exclaimed, as if that
-made all the difference.  Her hand remained in his, and
-as the carriage lurched across the gang-plank onto the
-ferry he bent over, unbuttoned her tight brown glove,
-and kissed her palm as if he had kissed a relic.  She
-disengaged herself with a faint smile, and he said:
-"You didn't expect me today?"
-
-"Oh, no."
-
-"I meant to go to Washington to see you.  I'd made
-all my arrangements--I very nearly crossed you in the
-train."
-
-"Oh--" she exclaimed, as if terrified by the narrowness
-of their escape.
-
-"Do you know--I hardly remembered you?"
-
-"Hardly remembered me?"
-
-"I mean: how shall I explain?  I--it's always so.  EACH
-TIME YOU HAPPEN TO ME ALL OVER AGAIN."
-
-"Oh, yes: I know!  I know!"
-
-"Does it--do I too: to you?" he insisted.
-
-She nodded, looking out of the window.
-
-"Ellen--Ellen--Ellen!"
-
-She made no answer, and he sat in silence, watching
-her profile grow indistinct against the snow-streaked
-dusk beyond the window.  What had she been doing in
-all those four long months, he wondered?  How little
-they knew of each other, after all!  The precious moments
-were slipping away, but he had forgotten everything
-that he had meant to say to her and could only
-helplessly brood on the mystery of their remoteness
-and their proximity, which seemed to be symbolised by
-the fact of their sitting so close to each other, and yet
-being unable to see each other's faces.
-
-"What a pretty carriage!  Is it May's?" she asked,
-suddenly turning her face from the window.
-
-"Yes."
-
-"It was May who sent you to fetch me, then?  How
-kind of her!"
-
-He made no answer for a moment; then he said
-explosively:  "Your husband's secretary came to see me
-the day after we met in Boston."
-
-In his brief letter to her he had made no allusion to
-M. Riviere's visit, and his intention had been to bury
-the incident in his bosom.  But her reminder that they
-were in his wife's carriage provoked him to an impulse
-of retaliation.  He would see if she liked his reference to
-Riviere any better than he liked hers to May!  As on
-certain other occasions when he had expected to shake
-her out of her usual composure, she betrayed no sign of
-surprise: and at once he concluded:  "He writes to her,
-then."
-
-"M. Riviere went to see you?"
-
-"Yes: didn't you know?"
-
-"No," she answered simply.
-
-"And you're not surprised?"
-
-She hesitated.  "Why should I be?  He told me in
-Boston that he knew you; that he'd met you in England
-I think."
-
-"Ellen--I must ask you one thing."
-
-"Yes."
-
-"I wanted to ask it after I saw him, but I couldn't
-put it in a letter.  It was Riviere who helped you to
-get away--when you left your husband?"
-
-His heart was beating suffocatingly.  Would she meet
-this question with the same composure?
-
-"Yes: I owe him a great debt," she answered, without
-the least tremor in her quiet voice.
-
-Her tone was so natural, so almost indifferent, that
-Archer's turmoil subsided.  Once more she had managed,
-by her sheer simplicity, to make him feel stupidly
-conventional just when he thought he was flinging
-convention to the winds.
-
-"I think you're the most honest woman I ever met!"
-he exclaimed.
-
-"Oh, no--but probably one of the least fussy," she
-answered, a smile in her voice.
-
-"Call it what you like: you look at things as they
-are."
-
-"Ah--I've had to.  I've had to look at the Gorgon."
-
-"Well--it hasn't blinded you!  You've seen that she's
-just an old bogey like all the others."
-
-"She doesn't blind one; but she dries up one's tears."
-
-The answer checked the pleading on Archer's lips: it
-seemed to come from depths of experience beyond his
-reach.  The slow advance of the ferry-boat had ceased,
-and her bows bumped against the piles of the slip with
-a violence that made the brougham stagger, and flung
-Archer and Madame Olenska against each other.  The
-young man, trembling, felt the pressure of her shoulder,
-and passed his arm about her.
-
-"If you're not blind, then, you must see that this
-can't last."
-
-"What can't?"
-
-"Our being together--and not together."
-
-"No.  You ought not to have come today," she said
-in an altered voice; and suddenly she turned, flung her
-arms about him and pressed her lips to his.  At the same
-moment the carriage began to move, and a gas-lamp at
-the head of the slip flashed its light into the window.
-She drew away, and they sat silent and motionless
-while the brougham struggled through the congestion
-of carriages about the ferry-landing.  As they gained the
-street Archer began to speak hurriedly.
-
-"Don't be afraid of me: you needn't squeeze yourself
-back into your corner like that.  A stolen kiss isn't what
-I want.  Look: I'm not even trying to touch the sleeve of
-your jacket.  Don't suppose that I don't understand
-your reasons for not wanting to let this feeling between
-us dwindle into an ordinary hole-and-corner love-affair.
-I couldn't have spoken like this yesterday, because when
-we've been apart, and I'm looking forward to seeing
-you, every thought is burnt up in a great flame.  But
-then you come; and you're so much more than I
-remembered, and what I want of you is so much more
-than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes
-of thirsty waiting between, that I can sit perfectly still
-beside you, like this, with that other vision in my mind,
-just quietly trusting to it to come true."
-
-For a moment she made no reply; then she asked,
-hardly above a whisper:  "What do you mean by trusting
-to it to come true?"
-
-"Why--you know it will, don't you?"
-
-"Your vision of you and me together?"  She burst
-into a sudden hard laugh.  "You choose your place well
-to put it to me!"
-
-"Do you mean because we're in my wife's brougham?
-Shall we get out and walk, then?  I don't suppose you
-mind a little snow?"
-
-She laughed again, more gently.  "No; I shan't get
-out and walk, because my business is to get to Granny's
-as quickly as I can.  And you'll sit beside me, and
-we'll look, not at visions, but at realities."
-
-"I don't know what you mean by realities.  The only
-reality to me is this."
-
-She met the words with a long silence, during which
-the carriage rolled down an obscure side-street and
-then turned into the searching illumination of Fifth
-Avenue.
-
-"Is it your idea, then, that I should live with you as
-your mistress--since I can't be your wife?" she asked.
-
-The crudeness of the question startled him: the word
-was one that women of his class fought shy of, even
-when their talk flitted closest about the topic.  He
-noticed that Madame Olenska pronounced it as if it had a
-recognised place in her vocabulary, and he wondered if
-it had been used familiarly in her presence in the horrible
-life she had fled from.  Her question pulled him up
-with a jerk, and he floundered.
-
-"I want--I want somehow to get away with you into
-a world where words like that--categories like that--
-won't exist.  Where we shall be simply two human
-beings who love each other, who are the whole of life
-to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter."
-
-She drew a deep sigh that ended in another laugh.
-"Oh, my dear--where is that country?  Have you ever
-been there?" she asked; and as he remained sullenly
-dumb she went on:  "I know so many who've tried to
-find it; and, believe me, they all got out by mistake at
-wayside stations: at places like Boulogne, or Pisa, or
-Monte Carlo--and it wasn't at all different from the
-old world they'd left, but only rather smaller and dingier
-and more promiscuous."
-
-He had never heard her speak in such a tone, and he
-remembered the phrase she had used a little while
-before.
-
-"Yes, the Gorgon HAS dried your tears," he said.
-
-"Well, she opened my eyes too; it's a delusion to say
-that she blinds people.  What she does is just the
-contrary--she fastens their eyelids open, so that they're
-never again in the blessed darkness.  Isn't there a Chinese
-torture like that?  There ought to be.  Ah, believe
-me, it's a miserable little country!"
-
-The carriage had crossed Forty-second Street: May's
-sturdy brougham-horse was carrying them northward
-as if he had been a Kentucky trotter.  Archer choked
-with the sense of wasted minutes and vain words.
-
-"Then what, exactly, is your plan for us?" he asked.
-
-"For US?  But there's no US in that sense!  We're near
-each other only if we stay far from each other.  Then we
-can be ourselves.  Otherwise we're only Newland Archer,
-the husband of Ellen Olenska's cousin, and Ellen
-Olenska, the cousin of Newland Archer's wife, trying
-to be happy behind the backs of the people who trust
-them."
-
-"Ah, I'm beyond that," he groaned.
-
-"No, you're not!  You've never been beyond.  And I
-have," she said, in a strange voice, "and I know what it
-looks like there."
-
-He sat silent, dazed with inarticulate pain.  Then he
-groped in the darkness of the carriage for the little bell
-that signalled orders to the coachman.  He remembered
-that May rang twice when she wished to stop.  He
-pressed the bell, and the carriage drew up beside the
-curbstone.
-
-"Why are we stopping?  This is not Granny's," Madame
-Olenska exclaimed.
-
-"No: I shall get out here," he stammered, opening
-the door and jumping to the pavement.  By the light of
-a street-lamp he saw her startled face, and the instinctive
-motion she made to detain him.  He closed the
-door, and leaned for a moment in the window.
-
-"You're right: I ought not to have come today," he
-said, lowering his voice so that the coachman should
-not hear.  She bent forward, and seemed about to speak;
-but he had already called out the order to drive on, and
-the carriage rolled away while he stood on the corner.
-The snow was over, and a tingling wind had sprung
-up, that lashed his face as he stood gazing.  Suddenly he
-felt something stiff and cold on his lashes, and perceived
-that he had been crying, and that the wind had
-frozen his tears.
-
-He thrust his hands in his pockets, and walked at a
-sharp pace down Fifth Avenue to his own house.
-
-
-
-XXX.
-
-That evening when Archer came down before dinner
-he found the drawing-room empty.
-
-He and May were dining alone, all the family
-engagements having been postponed since Mrs. Manson
-Mingott's illness; and as May was the more punctual
-of the two he was surprised that she had not preceded
-him.  He knew that she was at home, for while he
-dressed he had heard her moving about in her room;
-and he wondered what had delayed her.
-
-He had fallen into the way of dwelling on such
-conjectures as a means of tying his thoughts fast to
-reality.  Sometimes he felt as if he had found the clue to
-his father-in-law's absorption in trifles; perhaps even
-Mr. Welland, long ago, had had escapes and visions,
-and had conjured up all the hosts of domesticity to
-defend himself against them.
-
-When May appeared he thought she looked tired.
-She had put on the low-necked and tightly-laced dinner-
-dress which the Mingott ceremonial exacted on the
-most informal occasions, and had built her fair hair
-into its usual accumulated coils; and her face, in
-contrast, was wan and almost faded.  But she shone on him
-with her usual tenderness, and her eyes had kept the
-blue dazzle of the day before.
-
-"What became of you, dear?" she asked.  "I was
-waiting at Granny's, and Ellen came alone, and said
-she had dropped you on the way because you had to
-rush off on business.  There's nothing wrong?"
-
-"Only some letters I'd forgotten, and wanted to get
-off before dinner."
-
-"Ah--" she said; and a moment afterward:  "I'm
-sorry you didn't come to Granny's--unless the letters
-were urgent."
-
-"They were," he rejoined, surprised at her insistence.
-"Besides, I don't see why I should have gone to your
-grandmother's.  I didn't know you were there."
-
-She turned and moved to the looking-glass above the
-mantel-piece.  As she stood there, lifting her long arm to
-fasten a puff that had slipped from its place in her
-intricate hair, Archer was struck by something languid
-and inelastic in her attitude, and wondered if the deadly
-monotony of their lives had laid its weight on her also.
-Then he remembered that, as he had left the house that
-morning, she had called over the stairs that she would
-meet him at her grandmother's so that they might drive
-home together.  He had called back a cheery "Yes!"
-and then, absorbed in other visions, had forgotten his
-promise.  Now he was smitten with compunction, yet
-irritated that so trifling an omission should be stored
-up against him after nearly two years of marriage.  He
-was weary of living in a perpetual tepid honeymoon,
-without the temperature of passion yet with all its
-exactions.  If May had spoken out her grievances (he
-suspected her of many) he might have laughed them
-away; but she was trained to conceal imaginary wounds
-under a Spartan smile.
-
-To disguise his own annoyance he asked how her
-grandmother was, and she answered that Mrs. Mingott
-was still improving, but had been rather disturbed by
-the last news about the Beauforts.
-
-"What news?"
-
-"It seems they're going to stay in New York.  I believe
-he's going into an insurance business, or something.
-They're looking about for a small house."
-
-The preposterousness of the case was beyond discussion,
-and they went in to dinner.  During dinner their
-talk moved in its usual limited circle; but Archer
-noticed that his wife made no allusion to Madame Olenska,
-nor to old Catherine's reception of her.  He was thankful
-for the fact, yet felt it to be vaguely ominous.
-
-They went up to the library for coffee, and Archer
-lit a cigar and took down a volume of Michelet.  He
-had taken to history in the evenings since May had
-shown a tendency to ask him to read aloud whenever
-she saw him with a volume of poetry: not that he
-disliked the sound of his own voice, but because he
-could always foresee her comments on what he read.  In
-the days of their engagement she had simply (as he now
-perceived) echoed what he told her; but since he had
-ceased to provide her with opinions she had begun to
-hazard her own, with results destructive to his enjoyment
-of the works commented on.
-
-Seeing that he had chosen history she fetched her
-workbasket, drew up an arm-chair to the green-shaded
-student lamp, and uncovered a cushion she was
-embroidering for his sofa.  She was not a clever needle-
-woman; her large capable hands were made for riding,
-rowing and open-air activities; but since other wives
-embroidered cushions for their husbands she did not
-wish to omit this last link in her devotion.
-
-She was so placed that Archer, by merely raising his
-eyes, could see her bent above her work-frame, her
-ruffled elbow-sleeves slipping back from her firm round
-arms, the betrothal sapphire shining on her left hand
-above her broad gold wedding-ring, and the right hand
-slowly and laboriously stabbing the canvas.  As she sat
-thus, the lamplight full on her clear brow, he said to
-himself with a secret dismay that he would always
-know the thoughts behind it, that never, in all the years
-to come, would she surprise him by an unexpected
-mood, by a new idea, a weakness, a cruelty or an
-emotion.  She had spent her poetry and romance on
-their short courting: the function was exhausted
-because the need was past.  Now she was simply ripening
-into a copy of her mother, and mysteriously, by the
-very process, trying to turn him into a Mr. Welland.
-He laid down his book and stood up impatiently; and
-at once she raised her head.
-
-"What's the matter?"
-
-"The room is stifling: I want a little air."
-
-He had insisted that the library curtains should draw
-backward and forward on a rod, so that they might be
-closed in the evening, instead of remaining nailed to a
-gilt cornice, and immovably looped up over layers of
-lace, as in the drawing-room; and he pulled them back
-and pushed up the sash, leaning out into the icy night.
-The mere fact of not looking at May, seated beside his
-table, under his lamp, the fact of seeing other houses,
-roofs, chimneys, of getting the sense of other lives
-outside his own, other cities beyond New York, and a
-whole world beyond his world, cleared his brain and
-made it easier to breathe.
-
-After he had leaned out into the darkness for a few
-minutes he heard her say:  "Newland!  Do shut the
-window.  You'll catch your death."
-
-He pulled the sash down and turned back.  "Catch
-my death!" he echoed; and he felt like adding:  "But
-I've caught it already.  I AM dead--I've been dead for
-months and months."
-
-And suddenly the play of the word flashed up a wild
-suggestion.  What if it were SHE who was dead!  If she
-were going to die--to die soon--and leave him free!
-The sensation of standing there, in that warm familiar
-room, and looking at her, and wishing her dead, was
-so strange, so fascinating and overmastering, that its
-enormity did not immediately strike him.  He simply
-felt that chance had given him a new possibility to
-which his sick soul might cling.  Yes, May might die--
-people did: young people, healthy people like herself:
-she might die, and set him suddenly free.
-
-She glanced up, and he saw by her widening eyes
-that there must be something strange in his own.
-
-"Newland!  Are you ill?"
-
-He shook his head and turned toward his arm-chair.
-She bent over her work-frame, and as he passed he laid
-his hand on her hair.  "Poor May!" he said.
-
-"Poor?  Why poor?" she echoed with a strained laugh.
-
-"Because I shall never be able to open a window
-without worrying you," he rejoined, laughing also.
-
-For a moment she was silent; then she said very low,
-her head bowed over her work:  "I shall never worry if
-you're happy."
-
-"Ah, my dear; and I shall never be happy unless I
-can open the windows!"
-
-"In THIS weather?" she remonstrated; and with a sigh
-he buried his head in his book.
-
-Six or seven days passed.  Archer heard nothing from
-Madame Olenska, and became aware that her name
-would not be mentioned in his presence by any member
-of the family.  He did not try to see her; to do so
-while she was at old Catherine's guarded bedside would
-have been almost impossible.  In the uncertainty of the
-situation he let himself drift, conscious, somewhere
-below the surface of his thoughts, of a resolve which
-had come to him when he had leaned out from his
-library window into the icy night.  The strength of that
-resolve made it easy to wait and make no sign.
-
-Then one day May told him that Mrs. Manson
-Mingott had asked to see him.  There was nothing
-surprising in the request, for the old lady was steadily
-recovering, and she had always openly declared that
-she preferred Archer to any of her other grandsons-in-
-law.  May gave the message with evident pleasure: she
-was proud of old Catherine's appreciation of her
-husband.
-
-There was a moment's pause, and then Archer felt it
-incumbent on him to say:  "All right.  Shall we go
-together this afternoon?"
-
-His wife's face brightened, but she instantly answered:
-"Oh, you'd much better go alone.  It bores Granny to
-see the same people too often."
-
-Archer's heart was beating violently when he rang
-old Mrs. Mingott's bell.  He had wanted above all
-things to go alone, for he felt sure the visit would give
-him the chance of saying a word in private to the
-Countess Olenska.  He had determined to wait till the
-chance presented itself naturally; and here it was, and
-here he was on the doorstep.  Behind the door, behind
-the curtains of the yellow damask room next to the
-hall, she was surely awaiting him; in another moment
-he should see her, and be able to speak to her before
-she led him to the sick-room.
-
-He wanted only to put one question: after that his
-course would be clear.  What he wished to ask was
-simply the date of her return to Washington; and that
-question she could hardly refuse to answer.
-
-But in the yellow sitting-room it was the mulatto
-maid who waited.  Her white teeth shining like a
-keyboard, she pushed back the sliding doors and ushered
-him into old Catherine's presence.
-
-The old woman sat in a vast throne-like arm-chair
-near her bed.  Beside her was a mahogany stand bearing
-a cast bronze lamp with an engraved globe, over which
-a green paper shade had been balanced.  There was not
-a book or a newspaper in reach, nor any evidence of
-feminine employment: conversation had always been
-Mrs. Mingott's sole pursuit, and she would have scorned
-to feign an interest in fancywork.
-
-Archer saw no trace of the slight distortion left by
-her stroke.  She merely looked paler, with darker shadows
-in the folds and recesses of her obesity; and, in the
-fluted mob-cap tied by a starched bow between her
-first two chins, and the muslin kerchief crossed over
-her billowing purple dressing-gown, she seemed like
-some shrewd and kindly ancestress of her own who
-might have yielded too freely to the pleasures of the
-table.
-
-She held out one of the little hands that nestled in a
-hollow of her huge lap like pet animals, and called to
-the maid:  "Don't let in any one else.  If my daughters
-call, say I'm asleep."
-
-The maid disappeared, and the old lady turned to
-her grandson.
-
-"My dear, am I perfectly hideous?" she asked gaily,
-launching out one hand in search of the folds of muslin
-on her inaccessible bosom.  "My daughters tell me it
-doesn't matter at my age--as if hideousness didn't matter
-all the more the harder it gets to conceal!"
-
-"My dear, you're handsomer than ever!" Archer
-rejoined in the same tone; and she threw back her head
-and laughed.
-
-"Ah, but not as handsome as Ellen!" she jerked out,
-twinkling at him maliciously; and before he could answer
-she added:  "Was she so awfully handsome the
-day you drove her up from the ferry?"
-
-He laughed, and she continued:  "Was it because you
-told her so that she had to put you out on the way?  In
-my youth young men didn't desert pretty women unless
-they were made to!"  She gave another chuckle, and
-interrupted it to say almost querulously:  "It's a pity she
-didn't marry you; I always told her so.  It would have
-spared me all this worry.  But who ever thought of
-sparing their grandmother worry?"
-
-Archer wondered if her illness had blurred her faculties;
-but suddenly she broke out:  "Well, it's settled,
-anyhow: she's going to stay with me, whatever the rest
-of the family say!  She hadn't been here five minutes
-before I'd have gone down on my knees to keep her--if
-only, for the last twenty years, I'd been able to see
-where the floor was!"
-
-Archer listened in silence, and she went on:  "They'd
-talked me over, as no doubt you know: persuaded me,
-Lovell, and Letterblair, and Augusta Welland, and all
-the rest of them, that I must hold out and cut off her
-allowance, till she was made to see that it was her duty
-to go back to Olenski.  They thought they'd convinced
-me when the secretary, or whatever he was, came out
-with the last proposals: handsome proposals I confess
-they were.  After all, marriage is marriage, and money's
-money--both useful things in their way . . . and I didn't
-know what to answer--"  She broke off and drew a
-long breath, as if speaking had become an effort.  "But
-the minute I laid eyes on her, I said:  `You sweet bird,
-you!  Shut you up in that cage again?  Never!'  And now
-it's settled that she's to stay here and nurse her Granny
-as long as there's a Granny to nurse.  It's not a gay
-prospect, but she doesn't mind; and of course I've told
-Letterblair that she's to be given her proper allowance."
-
-The young man heard her with veins aglow; but in
-his confusion of mind he hardly knew whether her
-news brought joy or pain.  He had so definitely decided
-on the course he meant to pursue that for the moment
-he could not readjust his thoughts.  But gradually there
-stole over him the delicious sense of difficulties
-deferred and opportunities miraculously provided.  If
-Ellen had consented to come and live with her grandmother
-it must surely be because she had recognised the
-impossibility of giving him up.  This was her answer to his
-final appeal of the other day: if she would not take the
-extreme step he had urged, she had at last yielded to
-half-measures.  He sank back into the thought with the
-involuntary relief of a man who has been ready to risk
-everything, and suddenly tastes the dangerous sweetness
-of security.
-
-"She couldn't have gone back--it was impossible!"
-he exclaimed.
-
-"Ah, my dear, I always knew you were on her side;
-and that's why I sent for you today, and why I said to
-your pretty wife, when she proposed to come with you:
-`No, my dear, I'm pining to see Newland, and I don't
-want anybody to share our transports.'  For you see, my
-dear--" she drew her head back as far as its tethering
-chins permitted, and looked him full in the eyes--"you
-see, we shall have a fight yet.  The family don't want
-her here, and they'll say it's because I've been ill,
-because I'm a weak old woman, that she's persuaded me.
-I'm not well enough yet to fight them one by one, and
-you've got to do it for me."
-
-"I?" he stammered.
-
-"You.  Why not?" she jerked back at him, her round
-eyes suddenly as sharp as pen-knives.  Her hand fluttered
-from its chair-arm and lit on his with a clutch of
-little pale nails like bird-claws.  "Why not?" she
-searchingly repeated.
-
-Archer, under the exposure of her gaze, had recovered
-his self-possession.
-
-"Oh, I don't count--I'm too insignificant."
-
-"Well, you're Letterblair's partner, ain't you?  You've
-got to get at them through Letterblair.  Unless you've
-got a reason," she insisted.
-
-"Oh, my dear, I back you to hold your own against
-them all without my help; but you shall have it if you
-need it," he reassured her.
-
-"Then we're safe!" she sighed; and smiling on him
-with all her ancient cunning she added, as she settled
-her head among the cushions:  "I always knew you'd
-back us up, because they never quote you when they
-talk about its being her duty to go home."
-
-He winced a little at her terrifying perspicacity, and
-longed to ask:  "And May--do they quote her?"  But he
-judged it safer to turn the question.
-
-"And Madame Olenska?  When am I to see her?" he
-said.
-
-The old lady chuckled, crumpled her lids, and went
-through the pantomime of archness.  "Not today.  One
-at a time, please.  Madame Olenska's gone out."
-
-He flushed with disappointment, and she went on:
-"She's gone out, my child: gone in my carriage to see
-Regina Beaufort."
-
-She paused for this announcement to produce its
-effect.  "That's what she's reduced me to already.  The
-day after she got here she put on her best bonnet, and
-told me, as cool as a cucumber, that she was going to
-call on Regina Beaufort.  `I don't know her; who is
-she?' says I.  `She's your grand-niece, and a most
-unhappy woman,' she says.  `She's the wife of a scoundrel,'
-I answered.  `Well,' she says, `and so am I, and yet
-all my family want me to go back to him.'  Well, that
-floored me, and I let her go; and finally one day she
-said it was raining too hard to go out on foot, and she
-wanted me to lend her my carriage.  `What for?' I asked
-her; and she said: `To go and see cousin Regina'--COUSIN!
-Now, my dear, I looked out of the window, and saw it
-wasn't raining a drop; but I understood her, and I let
-her have the carriage. . . .  After all, Regina's a brave
-woman, and so is she; and I've always liked courage
-above everything."
-
-Archer bent down and pressed his lips on the little
-hand that still lay on his.
-
-"Eh--eh--eh!  Whose hand did you think you were
-kissing, young man--your wife's, I hope?" the old lady
-snapped out with her mocking cackle; and as he rose to
-go she called out after him:  "Give her her Granny's
-love; but you'd better not say anything about our talk."
-
-
-
-XXXI.
-
-Archer had been stunned by old Catherine's news.
-It was only natural that Madame Olenska should
-have hastened from Washington in response to her
-grandmother's summons; but that she should have decided
-to remain under her roof--especially now that
-Mrs. Mingott had almost regained her health--was less
-easy to explain.
-
-Archer was sure that Madame Olenska's decision
-had not been influenced by the change in her financial
-situation.  He knew the exact figure of the small income
-which her husband had allowed her at their separation.
-Without the addition of her grandmother's allowance it
-was hardly enough to live on, in any sense known to
-the Mingott vocabulary; and now that Medora Manson,
-who shared her life, had been ruined, such a
-pittance would barely keep the two women clothed and
-fed.  Yet Archer was convinced that Madame Olenska
-had not accepted her grandmother's offer from interested
-motives.
-
-She had the heedless generosity and the spasmodic
-extravagance of persons used to large fortunes, and
-indifferent to money; but she could go without many
-things which her relations considered indispensable,
-and Mrs. Lovell Mingott and Mrs. Welland had often
-been heard to deplore that any one who had enjoyed
-the cosmopolitan luxuries of Count Olenski's establishments
-should care so little about "how things were
-done."  Moreover, as Archer knew, several months had
-passed since her allowance had been cut off; yet in the
-interval she had made no effort to regain her grand-
-mother's favour.  Therefore if she had changed her course
-it must be for a different reason.
-
-He did not have far to seek for that reason.  On the
-way from the ferry she had told him that he and she
-must remain apart; but she had said it with her head
-on his breast.  He knew that there was no calculated
-coquetry in her words; she was fighting her fate as he
-had fought his, and clinging desperately to her resolve
-that they should not break faith with the people who
-trusted them.  But during the ten days which had elapsed
-since her return to New York she had perhaps guessed
-from his silence, and from the fact of his making no
-attempt to see her, that he was meditating a decisive
-step, a step from which there was no turning back.  At
-the thought, a sudden fear of her own weakness might
-have seized her, and she might have felt that, after all,
-it was better to accept the compromise usual in such
-cases, and follow the line of least resistance.
-
-An hour earlier, when he had rung Mrs. Mingott's
-bell, Archer had fancied that his path was clear before
-him.  He had meant to have a word alone with Madame
-Olenska, and failing that, to learn from her
-grandmother on what day, and by which train, she was
-returning to Washington.  In that train he intended to
-join her, and travel with her to Washington, or as
-much farther as she was willing to go.  His own fancy
-inclined to Japan.  At any rate she would understand at
-once that, wherever she went, he was going.  He meant
-to leave a note for May that should cut off any other
-alternative.
-
-He had fancied himself not only nerved for this
-plunge but eager to take it; yet his first feeling on
-hearing that the course of events was changed had been
-one of relief.  Now, however, as he walked home from
-Mrs. Mingott's, he was conscious of a growing distaste
-for what lay before him.  There was nothing unknown
-or unfamiliar in the path he was presumably to tread;
-but when he had trodden it before it was as a free man,
-who was accountable to no one for his actions, and
-could lend himself with an amused detachment to the
-game of precautions and prevarications, concealments
-and compliances, that the part required.  This procedure
-was called "protecting a woman's honour"; and
-the best fiction, combined with the after-dinner talk of
-his elders, had long since initiated him into every detail
-of its code.
-
-Now he saw the matter in a new light, and his part
-in it seemed singularly diminished.  It was, in fact, that
-which, with a secret fatuity, he had watched Mrs.
-Thorley Rushworth play toward a fond and unperceiving
-husband: a smiling, bantering, humouring, watchful
-and incessant lie.  A lie by day, a lie by night, a lie in
-every touch and every look; a lie in every caress and
-every quarrel; a lie in every word and in every silence.
-
-It was easier, and less dastardly on the whole, for a
-wife to play such a part toward her husband.  A woman's
-standard of truthfulness was tacitly held to be
-lower: she was the subject creature, and versed in the
-arts of the enslaved.  Then she could always plead moods
-and nerves, and the right not to be held too strictly to
-account; and even in the most strait-laced societies the
-laugh was always against the husband.
-
-But in Archer's little world no one laughed at a wife
-deceived, and a certain measure of contempt was
-attached to men who continued their philandering after
-marriage.  In the rotation of crops there was a recognised
-season for wild oats; but they were not to be sown
-more than once.
-
-Archer had always shared this view: in his heart he
-thought Lefferts despicable.  But to love Ellen Olenska
-was not to become a man like Lefferts: for the first
-time Archer found himself face to face with the dread
-argument of the individual case.  Ellen Olenska was like
-no other woman, he was like no other man: their
-situation, therefore, resembled no one else's, and they
-were answerable to no tribunal but that of their own
-judgment.
-
-Yes, but in ten minutes more he would be mounting
-his own doorstep; and there were May, and habit, and
-honour, and all the old decencies that he and his people
-had always believed in . . .
-
-At his corner he hesitated, and then walked on down
-Fifth Avenue.
-
-Ahead of him, in the winter night, loomed a big unlit
-house.  As he drew near he thought how often he had
-seen it blazing with lights, its steps awninged and carpeted,
-and carriages waiting in double line to draw up
-at the curbstone.  It was in the conservatory that stretched
-its dead-black bulk down the side street that he had
-taken his first kiss from May; it was under the myriad
-candles of the ball-room that he had seen her appear,
-tall and silver-shining as a young Diana.
-
-Now the house was as dark as the grave, except for a
-faint flare of gas in the basement, and a light in one
-upstairs room where the blind had not been lowered.
-As Archer reached the corner he saw that the carriage
-standing at the door was Mrs. Manson Mingott's.  What
-an opportunity for Sillerton Jackson, if he should chance
-to pass!  Archer had been greatly moved by old Catherine's
-account of Madame Olenska's attitude toward
-Mrs. Beaufort; it made the righteous reprobation of
-New York seem like a passing by on the other side.  But
-he knew well enough what construction the clubs and
-drawing-rooms would put on Ellen Olenska's visits to
-her cousin.
-
-He paused and looked up at the lighted window.  No
-doubt the two women were sitting together in that
-room: Beaufort had probably sought consolation elsewhere.
-There were even rumours that he had left New
-York with Fanny Ring; but Mrs. Beaufort's attitude
-made the report seem improbable.
-
-Archer had the nocturnal perspective of Fifth Avenue
-almost to himself.  At that hour most people were
-indoors, dressing for dinner; and he was secretly glad
-that Ellen's exit was likely to be unobserved.  As the
-thought passed through his mind the door opened, and
-she came out.  Behind her was a faint light, such as
-might have been carried down the stairs to show her
-the way.  She turned to say a word to some one; then
-the door closed, and she came down the steps.
-
-"Ellen," he said in a low voice, as she reached the
-pavement.
-
-She stopped with a slight start, and just then he saw
-two young men of fashionable cut approaching.  There
-was a familiar air about their overcoats and the way
-their smart silk mufflers were folded over their white
-ties; and he wondered how youths of their quality
-happened to be dining out so early.  Then he remembered
-that the Reggie Chiverses, whose house was a
-few doors above, were taking a large party that evening
-to see Adelaide Neilson in Romeo and Juliet, and guessed
-that the two were of the number.  They passed under a
-lamp, and he recognised Lawrence Lefferts and a young
-Chivers.
-
-A mean desire not to have Madame Olenska seen at
-the Beauforts' door vanished as he felt the penetrating
-warmth of her hand.
-
-"I shall see you now--we shall be together," he
-broke out, hardly knowing what he said.
-
-"Ah," she answered, "Granny has told you?"
-
-While he watched her he was aware that Lefferts and
-Chivers, on reaching the farther side of the street corner,
-had discreetly struck away across Fifth Avenue.  It
-was the kind of masculine solidarity that he himself
-often practised; now he sickened at their connivance.
-Did she really imagine that he and she could live like
-this?  And if not, what else did she imagine?
-
-"Tomorrow I must see you--somewhere where we
-can be alone," he said, in a voice that sounded almost
-angry to his own ears.
-
-She wavered, and moved toward the carriage.
-
-"But I shall be at Granny's--for the present that is,"
-she added, as if conscious that her change of plans
-required some explanation.
-
-"Somewhere where we can be alone," he insisted.
-
-She gave a faint laugh that grated on him.
-
-"In New York?  But there are no churches . . . no
-monuments."
-
-"There's the Art Museum--in the Park," he explained,
-as she looked puzzled.  "At half-past two.  I shall be at
-the door . . ."
-
-She turned away without answering and got quickly
-into the carriage.  As it drove off she leaned forward,
-and he thought she waved her hand in the obscurity.
-He stared after her in a turmoil of contradictory feelings.
-It seemed to him that he had been speaking not to
-the woman he loved but to another, a woman he was
-indebted to for pleasures already wearied of: it was
-hateful to find himself the prisoner of this hackneyed
-vocabulary.
-
-"She'll come!" he said to himself, almost contemptuously.
-
-Avoiding the popular "Wolfe collection," whose anecdotic
-canvases filled one of the main galleries of the queer
-wilderness of cast-iron and encaustic tiles known as the
-Metropolitan Museum, they had wandered down a
-passage to the room where the "Cesnola antiquities"
-mouldered in unvisited loneliness.
-
-They had this melancholy retreat to themselves, and
-seated on the divan enclosing the central steam-radiator,
-they were staring silently at the glass cabinets mounted
-in ebonised wood which contained the recovered fragments
-of Ilium.
-
-"It's odd," Madame Olenska said, "I never came
-here before."
-
-"Ah, well--.  Some day, I suppose, it will be a great
-Museum."
-
-"Yes," she assented absently.
-
-She stood up and wandered across the room.  Archer,
-remaining seated, watched the light movements of her
-figure, so girlish even under its heavy furs, the cleverly
-planted heron wing in her fur cap, and the way a dark
-curl lay like a flattened vine spiral on each cheek above
-the ear.  His mind, as always when they first met, was
-wholly absorbed in the delicious details that made her
-herself and no other.  Presently he rose and approached
-the case before which she stood.  Its glass shelves were
-crowded with small broken objects--hardly recognisable
-domestic utensils, ornaments and personal trifles--made
-of glass, of clay, of discoloured bronze and other time-
-blurred substances.
-
-"It seems cruel," she said, "that after a while nothing
-matters . . . any more than these little things, that used
-to be necessary and important to forgotten people, and
-now have to be guessed at under a magnifying glass
-and labelled:  `Use unknown.'"
-
-"Yes; but meanwhile--"
-
-"Ah, meanwhile--"
-
-As she stood there, in her long sealskin coat, her
-hands thrust in a small round muff, her veil drawn
-down like a transparent mask to the tip of her nose,
-and the bunch of violets he had brought her stirring
-with her quickly-taken breath, it seemed incredible that
-this pure harmony of line and colour should ever suffer
-the stupid law of change.
-
-"Meanwhile everything matters--that concerns you,"
-he said.
-
-She looked at him thoughtfully, and turned back to
-the divan.  He sat down beside her and waited; but
-suddenly he heard a step echoing far off down the
-empty rooms, and felt the pressure of the minutes.
-
-"What is it you wanted to tell me?" she asked, as if
-she had received the same warning.
-
-"What I wanted to tell you?" he rejoined.  "Why,
-that I believe you came to New York because you were
-afraid."
-
-"Afraid?"
-
-"Of my coming to Washington."
-
-She looked down at her muff, and he saw her hands
-stir in it uneasily.
-
-"Well--?"
-
-"Well--yes," she said.
-
-"You WERE afraid?  You knew--?"
-
-"Yes: I knew . . ."
-
-"Well, then?" he insisted.
-
-"Well, then: this is better, isn't it?" she returned with
-a long questioning sigh.
-
-"Better--?"
-
-"We shall hurt others less.  Isn't it, after all, what you
-always wanted?"
-
-"To have you here, you mean--in reach and yet out
-of reach?  To meet you in this way, on the sly?  It's the
-very reverse of what I want.  I told you the other day
-what I wanted."
-
-She hesitated.  "And you still think this--worse?"
-
-"A thousand times!"  He paused.  "It would be easy
-to lie to you; but the truth is I think it detestable."
-
-"Oh, so do I!" she cried with a deep breath of relief.
-
-He sprang up impatiently.  "Well, then--it's my turn
-to ask: what is it, in God's name, that you think
-better?"
-
-She hung her head and continued to clasp and unclasp
-her hands in her muff.  The step drew nearer, and
-a guardian in a braided cap walked listlessly through
-the room like a ghost stalking through a necropolis.
-They fixed their eyes simultaneously on the case opposite
-them, and when the official figure had vanished
-down a vista of mummies and sarcophagi Archer spoke
-again.
-
-"What do you think better?"
-
-Instead of answering she murmured:  "I promised
-Granny to stay with her because it seemed to me that
-here I should be safer."
-
-"From me?"
-
-She bent her head slightly, without looking at him.
-
-"Safer from loving me?"
-
-Her profile did not stir, but he saw a tear overflow
-on her lashes and hang in a mesh of her veil.
-
-"Safer from doing irreparable harm.  Don't let us be
-like all the others!" she protested.
-
-"What others?  I don't profess to be different from
-my kind.  I'm consumed by the same wants and the
-same longings."
-
-She glanced at him with a kind of terror, and he saw
-a faint colour steal into her cheeks.
-
-"Shall I--once come to you; and then go home?" she
-suddenly hazarded in a low clear voice.
-
-The blood rushed to the young man's forehead.
-"Dearest!" he said, without moving.  It seemed as if he
-held his heart in his hands, like a full cup that the least
-motion might overbrim.
-
-Then her last phrase struck his ear and his face
-clouded.  "Go home?  What do you mean by going
-home?"
-
-"Home to my husband."
-
-"And you expect me to say yes to that?"
-
-She raised her troubled eyes to his.  "What else is
-there?  I can't stay here and lie to the people who've
-been good to me."
-
-"But that's the very reason why I ask you to come
-away!"
-
-"And destroy their lives, when they've helped me to
-remake mine?"
-
-Archer sprang to his feet and stood looking down on
-her in inarticulate despair.  It would have been easy to
-say:  "Yes, come; come once."  He knew the power she
-would put in his hands if she consented; there would
-be no difficulty then in persuading her not to go back
-to her husband.
-
-But something silenced the word on his lips.  A sort
-of passionate honesty in her made it inconceivable that
-he should try to draw her into that familiar trap.  "If I
-were to let her come," he said to himself, "I should
-have to let her go again."  And that was not to be
-imagined.
-
-But he saw the shadow of the lashes on her wet
-cheek, and wavered.
-
-"After all," he began again, "we have lives of our
-own. . . .  There's no use attempting the impossible.
-You're so unprejudiced about some things, so used, as
-you say, to looking at the Gorgon, that I don't know
-why you're afraid to face our case, and see it as it
-really is--unless you think the sacrifice is not worth
-making."
-
-She stood up also, her lips tightening under a rapid
-frown.
-
-"Call it that, then--I must go," she said, drawing her
-little watch from her bosom.
-
-She turned away, and he followed and caught her by
-the wrist.  "Well, then: come to me once," he said, his
-head turning suddenly at the thought of losing her; and
-for a second or two they looked at each other almost
-like enemies.
-
-"When?" he insisted.  "Tomorrow?"
-
-She hesitated.  "The day after."
-
-"Dearest--!" he said again.
-
-She had disengaged her wrist; but for a moment they
-continued to hold each other's eyes, and he saw that
-her face, which had grown very pale, was flooded with
-a deep inner radiance.  His heart beat with awe: he felt
-that he had never before beheld love visible.
-
-"Oh, I shall be late--good-bye.  No, don't come any
-farther than this," she cried, walking hurriedly away
-down the long room, as if the reflected radiance in his
-eyes had frightened her.  When she reached the door she
-turned for a moment to wave a quick farewell.
-
-Archer walked home alone.  Darkness was falling when
-he let himself into his house, and he looked about at
-the familiar objects in the hall as if he viewed them
-from the other side of the grave.
-
-The parlour-maid, hearing his step, ran up the stairs
-to light the gas on the upper landing.
-
-"Is Mrs. Archer in?"
-
-"No, sir; Mrs. Archer went out in the carriage after
-luncheon, and hasn't come back."
-
-With a sense of relief he entered the library and flung
-himself down in his armchair.  The parlour-maid followed,
-bringing the student lamp and shaking some
-coals onto the dying fire.  When she left he continued to
-sit motionless, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his
-clasped hands, his eyes fixed on the red grate.
-
-He sat there without conscious thoughts, without
-sense of the lapse of time, in a deep and grave amazement
-that seemed to suspend life rather than quicken it.
-"This was what had to be, then . . . this was what had
-to be," he kept repeating to himself, as if he hung in
-the clutch of doom.  What he had dreamed of had been
-so different that there was a mortal chill in his rapture.
-
-The door opened and May came in.
-
-"I'm dreadfully late--you weren't worried, were you?"
-she asked, laying her hand on his shoulder with one of
-her rare caresses.
-
-He looked up astonished.  "Is it late?"
-
-"After seven.  I believe you've been asleep!"  She
-laughed, and drawing out her hat pins tossed her velvet
-hat on the sofa.  She looked paler than usual, but sparkling
-with an unwonted animation.
-
-"I went to see Granny, and just as I was going away
-Ellen came in from a walk; so I stayed and had a long
-talk with her.  It was ages since we'd had a real talk. . . ."
-She had dropped into her usual armchair, facing his,
-and was running her fingers through her rumpled hair.
-He fancied she expected him to speak.
-
-"A really good talk," she went on, smiling with what
-seemed to Archer an unnatural vividness.  "She was so
-dear--just like the old Ellen.  I'm afraid I haven't been
-fair to her lately.  I've sometimes thought--"
-
-Archer stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece,
-out of the radius of the lamp.
-
-"Yes, you've thought--?" he echoed as she paused.
-
-"Well, perhaps I haven't judged her fairly.  She's so
-different--at least on the surface.  She takes up such
-odd people--she seems to like to make herself conspicuous.
-I suppose it's the life she's led in that fast European
-society; no doubt we seem dreadfully dull to her.
-But I don't want to judge her unfairly."
-
-She paused again, a little breathless with the
-unwonted length of her speech, and sat with her lips
-slightly parted and a deep blush on her cheeks.
-
-Archer, as he looked at her, was reminded of the
-glow which had suffused her face in the Mission Garden
-at St. Augustine.  He became aware of the same
-obscure effort in her, the same reaching out toward
-something beyond the usual range of her vision.
-
-"She hates Ellen," he thought, "and she's trying to
-overcome the feeling, and to get me to help her to
-overcome it."
-
-The thought moved him, and for a moment he was
-on the point of breaking the silence between them, and
-throwing himself on her mercy.
-
-"You understand, don't you," she went on, "why
-the family have sometimes been annoyed?  We all did
-what we could for her at first; but she never seemed to
-understand.  And now this idea of going to see Mrs.
-Beaufort, of going there in Granny's carriage!  I'm afraid
-she's quite alienated the van der Luydens . . ."
-
-"Ah," said Archer with an impatient laugh.  The
-open door had closed between them again.
-
-"It's time to dress; we're dining out, aren't we?" he
-asked, moving from the fire.
-
-She rose also, but lingered near the hearth.  As he
-walked past her she moved forward impulsively, as
-though to detain him: their eyes met, and he saw that
-hers were of the same swimming blue as when he had
-left her to drive to Jersey City.
-
-She flung her arms about his neck and pressed her
-cheek to his.
-
-"You haven't kissed me today," she said in a whisper;
-and he felt her tremble in his arms.
-
-
-
-XXXII.
-
-"At the court of the Tuileries," said Mr. Sillerton
-Jackson with his reminiscent smile, "such things
-were pretty openly tolerated."
-
-The scene was the van der Luydens' black walnut
-dining-room in Madison Avenue, and the time the evening
-after Newland Archer's visit to the Museum of
-Art.  Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden had come to town
-for a few days from Skuytercliff, whither they had
-precipitately fled at the announcement of Beaufort's
-failure.  It had been represented to them that the disarray
-into which society had been thrown by this deplorable
-affair made their presence in town more necessary
-than ever.  It was one of the occasions when, as Mrs.
-Archer put it, they "owed it to society" to show themselves
-at the Opera, and even to open their own doors.
-
-"It will never do, my dear Louisa, to let people like
-Mrs. Lemuel Struthers think they can step into Regina's
-shoes.  It is just at such times that new people push
-in and get a footing.  It was owing to the epidemic of
-chicken-pox in New York the winter Mrs. Struthers
-first appeared that the married men slipped away to
-her house while their wives were in the nursery.  You
-and dear Henry, Louisa, must stand in the breach as
-you always have."
-
-Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden could not remain deaf
-to such a call, and reluctantly but heroically they had
-come to town, unmuffled the house, and sent out
-invitations for two dinners and an evening reception.
-
-On this particular evening they had invited Sillerton
-Jackson, Mrs. Archer and Newland and his wife to go
-with them to the Opera, where Faust was being sung
-for the first time that winter.  Nothing was done without
-ceremony under the van der Luyden roof, and
-though there were but four guests the repast had begun
-at seven punctually, so that the proper sequence of
-courses might be served without haste before the gentlemen
-settled down to their cigars.
-
-Archer had not seen his wife since the evening
-before.  He had left early for the office, where he had
-plunged into an accumulation of unimportant business.
-In the afternoon one of the senior partners had made
-an unexpected call on his time; and he had reached
-home so late that May had preceded him to the van der
-Luydens', and sent back the carriage.
-
-Now, across the Skuytercliff carnations and the massive
-plate, she struck him as pale and languid; but her
-eyes shone, and she talked with exaggerated animation.
-
-The subject which had called forth Mr. Sillerton
-Jackson's favourite allusion had been brought up (Archer
-fancied not without intention) by their hostess.  The
-Beaufort failure, or rather the Beaufort attitude since
-the failure, was still a fruitful theme for the drawing-
-room moralist; and after it had been thoroughly examined
-and condemned Mrs. van der Luyden had turned
-her scrupulous eyes on May Archer.
-
-"Is it possible, dear, that what I hear is true?  I was
-told your grandmother Mingott's carriage was seen
-standing at Mrs. Beaufort's door."  It was noticeable
-that she no longer called the offending lady by her
-Christian name.
-
-May's colour rose, and Mrs. Archer put in hastily:
-"If it was, I'm convinced it was there without Mrs.
-Mingott's knowledge."
-
-"Ah, you think--?"  Mrs. van der Luyden paused,
-sighed, and glanced at her husband.
-
-"I'm afraid," Mr. van der Luyden said, "that Madame
-Olenska's kind heart may have led her into the
-imprudence of calling on Mrs. Beaufort."
-
-"Or her taste for peculiar people," put in Mrs. Archer
-in a dry tone, while her eyes dwelt innocently on her
-son's.
-
-"I'm sorry to think it of Madame Olenska," said
-Mrs. van der Luyden; and Mrs. Archer murmured:
-"Ah, my dear--and after you'd had her twice at
-Skuytercliff!"
-
-It was at this point that Mr. Jackson seized the
-chance to place his favourite allusion.
-
-"At the Tuileries," he repeated, seeing the eyes of the
-company expectantly turned on him, "the standard
-was excessively lax in some respects; and if you'd asked
-where Morny's money came from--!  Or who paid the
-debts of some of the Court beauties . . ."
-
-"I hope, dear Sillerton," said Mrs. Archer, "you are
-not suggesting that we should adopt such standards?"
-
-"I never suggest," returned Mr. Jackson imperturbably.
-"But Madame Olenska's foreign bringing-up may
-make her less particular--"
-
-"Ah," the two elder ladies sighed.
-
-"Still, to have kept her grandmother's carriage at a
-defaulter's door!" Mr. van der Luyden protested; and
-Archer guessed that he was remembering, and resenting,
-the hampers of carnations he had sent to the little
-house in Twenty-third Street.
-
-"Of course I've always said that she looks at things
-quite differently," Mrs. Archer summed up.
-
-A flush rose to May's forehead.  She looked across
-the table at her husband, and said precipitately:  "I'm
-sure Ellen meant it kindly."
-
-"Imprudent people are often kind," said Mrs. Archer,
-as if the fact were scarcely an extenuation; and Mrs.
-van der Luyden murmured:  "If only she had consulted
-some one--"
-
-"Ah, that she never did!" Mrs. Archer rejoined.
-
-At this point Mr. van der Luyden glanced at his wife,
-who bent her head slightly in the direction of Mrs.
-Archer; and the glimmering trains of the three ladies
-swept out of the door while the gentlemen settled down
-to their cigars.  Mr. van der Luyden supplied short ones
-on Opera nights; but they were so good that they made
-his guests deplore his inexorable punctuality.
-
-Archer, after the first act, had detached himself from
-the party and made his way to the back of the club
-box.  From there he watched, over various Chivers,
-Mingott and Rushworth shoulders, the same scene that
-he had looked at, two years previously, on the night of
-his first meeting with Ellen Olenska.  He had half-
-expected her to appear again in old Mrs. Mingott's
-box, but it remained empty; and he sat motionless, his
-eyes fastened on it, till suddenly Madame Nilsson's
-pure soprano broke out into "M'ama, non m'ama . . . "
-
-Archer turned to the stage, where, in the familiar
-setting of giant roses and pen-wiper pansies, the same
-large blonde victim was succumbing to the same small
-brown seducer.
-
-From the stage his eyes wandered to the point of the
-horseshoe where May sat between two older ladies,
-just as, on that former evening, she had sat between
-Mrs. Lovell Mingott and her newly-arrived "foreign"
-cousin.  As on that evening, she was all in white; and
-Archer, who had not noticed what she wore, recognised
-the blue-white satin and old lace of her wedding dress.
-
-It was the custom, in old New York, for brides to
-appear in this costly garment during the first year or
-two of marriage: his mother, he knew, kept hers in
-tissue paper in the hope that Janey might some day
-wear it, though poor Janey was reaching the age when
-pearl grey poplin and no bridesmaids would be thought
-more "appropriate."
-
-It struck Archer that May, since their return from
-Europe, had seldom worn her bridal satin, and the
-surprise of seeing her in it made him compare her
-appearance with that of the young girl he had watched
-with such blissful anticipations two years earlier.
-
-Though May's outline was slightly heavier, as her
-goddesslike build had foretold, her athletic erectness of
-carriage, and the girlish transparency of her expression,
-remained unchanged: but for the slight languor that
-Archer had lately noticed in her she would have been
-the exact image of the girl playing with the bouquet of
-lilies-of-the-valley on her betrothal evening.  The fact
-seemed an additional appeal to his pity: such innocence
-was as moving as the trustful clasp of a child.  Then he
-remembered the passionate generosity latent under that
-incurious calm.  He recalled her glance of understanding
-when he had urged that their engagement should be
-announced at the Beaufort ball; he heard the voice in
-which she had said, in the Mission garden:  "I couldn't
-have my happiness made out of a wrong--a wrong to
-some one else;" and an uncontrollable longing seized
-him to tell her the truth, to throw himself on her
-generosity, and ask for the freedom he had once refused.
-
-Newland Archer was a quiet and self-controlled young
-man.  Conformity to the discipline of a small society
-had become almost his second nature.  It was deeply
-distasteful to him to do anything melodramatic and
-conspicuous, anything Mr. van der Luyden would have
-deprecated and the club box condemned as bad form.
-But he had become suddenly unconscious of the club
-box, of Mr. van der Luyden, of all that had so long
-enclosed him in the warm shelter of habit.  He walked
-along the semi-circular passage at the back of the house,
-and opened the door of Mrs. van der Luyden's box as
-if it had been a gate into the unknown.
-
-"M'ama!" thrilled out the triumphant Marguerite;
-and the occupants of the box looked up in surprise at
-Archer's entrance.  He had already broken one of the
-rules of his world, which forbade the entering of a box
-during a solo.
-
-Slipping between Mr. van der Luyden and Sillerton
-Jackson, he leaned over his wife.
-
-"I've got a beastly headache; don't tell any one, but
-come home, won't you?" he whispered.
-
-May gave him a glance of comprehension, and he
-saw her whisper to his mother, who nodded sympathetically;
-then she murmured an excuse to Mrs. van
-der Luyden, and rose from her seat just as Marguerite
-fell into Faust's arms.  Archer, while he helped her on
-with her Opera cloak, noticed the exchange of a significant
-smile between the older ladies.
-
-As they drove away May laid her hand shyly on
-his.  "I'm so sorry you don't feel well.  I'm afraid they've
-been overworking you again at the office."
-
-"No--it's not that: do you mind if I open the
-window?" he returned confusedly, letting down the pane
-on his side.  He sat staring out into the street, feeling his
-wife beside him as a silent watchful interrogation, and
-keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the passing houses.
-At their door she caught her skirt in the step of the
-carriage, and fell against him.
-
-"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, steadying her
-with his arm.
-
-"No; but my poor dress--see how I've torn it!" she
-exclaimed.  She bent to gather up a mud-stained breadth,
-and followed him up the steps into the hall.  The servants
-had not expected them so early, and there was
-only a glimmer of gas on the upper landing.
-
-Archer mounted the stairs, turned up the light, and
-put a match to the brackets on each side of the library
-mantelpiece.  The curtains were drawn, and the warm
-friendly aspect of the room smote him like that of a
-familiar face met during an unavowable errand.
-
-He noticed that his wife was very pale, and asked if
-he should get her some brandy.
-
-"Oh, no," she exclaimed with a momentary flush, as
-she took off her cloak.  "But hadn't you better go to
-bed at once?" she added, as he opened a silver box on
-the table and took out a cigarette.
-
-Archer threw down the cigarette and walked to his
-usual place by the fire.
-
-"No; my head is not as bad as that."  He paused.
-"And there's something I want to say; something
-important--that I must tell you at once."
-
-She had dropped into an armchair, and raised her
-head as he spoke.  "Yes, dear?" she rejoined, so gently
-that he wondered at the lack of wonder with which she
-received this preamble.
-
-"May--" he began, standing a few feet from her
-chair, and looking over at her as if the slight distance
-between them were an unbridgeable abyss.  The sound
-of his voice echoed uncannily through the homelike
-hush, and he repeated:  "There is something I've got to
-tell you . . . about myself . . ."
-
-She sat silent, without a movement or a tremor of
-her lashes.  She was still extremely pale, but her face
-had a curious tranquillity of expression that seemed
-drawn from some secret inner source.
-
-Archer checked the conventional phrases of self-accusal
-that were crowding to his lips.  He was determined to
-put the case baldly, without vain recrimination or excuse.
-
-"Madame Olenska--" he said; but at the name his
-wife raised her hand as if to silence him.  As she did so
-the gaslight struck on the gold of her wedding-ring.
-
-"Oh, why should we talk about Ellen tonight?" she
-asked, with a slight pout of impatience.
-
-"Because I ought to have spoken before."
-
-Her face remained calm.  "Is it really worth while,
-dear?  I know I've been unfair to her at times--perhaps
-we all have.  You've understood her, no doubt, better
-than we did: you've always been kind to her.  But what
-does it matter, now it's all over?"
-
-Archer looked at her blankly.  Could it be possible
-that the sense of unreality in which he felt himself
-imprisoned had communicated itself to his wife?
-
-"All over--what do you mean?" he asked in an
-indistinct stammer.
-
-May still looked at him with transparent eyes.  "Why--
-since she's going back to Europe so soon; since Granny
-approves and understands, and has arranged to make
-her independent of her husband--"
-
-She broke off, and Archer, grasping the corner of the
-mantelpiece in one convulsed hand, and steadying himself
-against it, made a vain effort to extend the same
-control to his reeling thoughts.
-
-"I supposed," he heard his wife's even voice go on,
-"that you had been kept at the office this evening
-about the business arrangements.  It was settled this
-morning, I believe."  She lowered her eyes under his
-unseeing stare, and another fugitive flush passed over
-her face.
-
-He understood that his own eyes must be unbearable,
-and turning away, rested his elbows on the mantel-
-shelf and covered his face.  Something drummed and
-clanged furiously in his ears; he could not tell if it were
-the blood in his veins, or the tick of the clock on the
-mantel.
-
-May sat without moving or speaking while the clock
-slowly measured out five minutes.  A lump of coal fell
-forward in the grate, and hearing her rise to push it
-back, Archer at length turned and faced her.
-
-"It's impossible," he exclaimed.
-
-"Impossible--?"
-
-"How do you know--what you've just told me?"
-
-"I saw Ellen yesterday--I told you I'd seen her at
-Granny's."
-
-"It wasn't then that she told you?"
-
-"No; I had a note from her this afternoon.--Do you
-want to see it?"
-
-He could not find his voice, and she went out of the
-room, and came back almost immediately.
-
-"I thought you knew," she said simply.
-
-She laid a sheet of paper on the table, and Archer put
-out his hand and took it up.  The letter contained only a
-few lines.
-
-"May dear, I have at last made Granny understand
-that my visit to her could be no more than a visit; and
-she has been as kind and generous as ever.  She sees
-now that if I return to Europe I must live by myself, or
-rather with poor Aunt Medora, who is coming with
-me. I am hurrying back to Washington to pack up, and
-we sail next week.  You must be very good to Granny
-when I'm gone--as good as you've always been to me.
-Ellen.
-
-"If any of my friends wish to urge me to change my
-mind, please tell them it would be utterly useless."
-
-Archer read the letter over two or three times; then
-he flung it down and burst out laughing.
-
-The sound of his laugh startled him.  It recalled Janey's
-midnight fright when she had caught him rocking with
-incomprehensible mirth over May's telegram announcing
-that the date of their marriage had been advanced.
-
-"Why did she write this?" he asked, checking his
-laugh with a supreme effort.
-
-May met the question with her unshaken candour.  "I
-suppose because we talked things over yesterday--"
-
-"What things?"
-
-"I told her I was afraid I hadn't been fair to her--
-hadn't always understood how hard it must have been
-for her here, alone among so many people who were
-relations and yet strangers; who felt the right to criticise,
-and yet didn't always know the circumstances."
-She paused.  "I knew you'd been the one friend she
-could always count on; and I wanted her to know that
-you and I were the same--in all our feelings."
-
-She hesitated, as if waiting for him to speak, and
-then added slowly:  "She understood my wishing to tell
-her this.  I think she understands everything."
-
-She went up to Archer, and taking one of his cold
-hands pressed it quickly against her cheek.
-
-"My head aches too; good-night, dear," she said,
-and turned to the door, her torn and muddy wedding-
-dress dragging after her across the room.
-
-
-
-XXXIII.
-
-It was, as Mrs. Archer smilingly said to Mrs. Welland,
-a great event for a young couple to give their first
-big dinner.
-
-The Newland Archers, since they had set up their
-household, had received a good deal of company in an
-informal way.  Archer was fond of having three or four
-friends to dine, and May welcomed them with the
-beaming readiness of which her mother had set her the
-example in conjugal affairs.  Her husband questioned
-whether, if left to herself, she would ever have asked
-any one to the house; but he had long given up trying
-to disengage her real self from the shape into which
-tradition and training had moulded her.  It was
-expected that well-off young couples in New York should
-do a good deal of informal entertaining, and a Welland
-married to an Archer was doubly pledged to the
-tradition.
-
-But a big dinner, with a hired chef and two
-borrowed footmen, with Roman punch, roses from
-Henderson's, and menus on gilt-edged cards, was a different
-affair, and not to be lightly undertaken.  As Mrs. Archer
-remarked, the Roman punch made all the difference;
-not in itself but by its manifold implications--since it
-signified either canvas-backs or terrapin, two soups, a
-hot and a cold sweet, full decolletage with short sleeves,
-and guests of a proportionate importance.
-
-It was always an interesting occasion when a young
-pair launched their first invitations in the third person,
-and their summons was seldom refused even by the
-seasoned and sought-after.  Still, it was admittedly a
-triumph that the van der Luydens, at May's request,
-should have stayed over in order to be present at her
-farewell dinner for the Countess Olenska.
-
-The two mothers-in-law sat in May's drawing-room
-on the afternoon of the great day, Mrs. Archer writing
-out the menus on Tiffany's thickest gilt-edged bristol,
-while Mrs. Welland superintended the placing of the
-palms and standard lamps.
-
-Archer, arriving late from his office, found them still
-there.  Mrs. Archer had turned her attention to the
-name-cards for the table, and Mrs. Welland was
-considering the effect of bringing forward the large gilt
-sofa, so that another "corner" might be created
-between the piano and the window.
-
-May, they told him, was in the dining-room inspecting
-the mound of Jacqueminot roses and maidenhair in
-the centre of the long table, and the placing of the
-Maillard bonbons in openwork silver baskets between
-the candelabra.  On the piano stood a large basket of
-orchids which Mr. van der Luyden had had sent from
-Skuytercliff.  Everything was, in short, as it should be
-on the approach of so considerable an event.
-
-Mrs. Archer ran thoughtfully over the list, checking
-off each name with her sharp gold pen.
-
-"Henry van der Luyden--Louisa--the Lovell Mingotts
---the Reggie Chiverses--Lawrence Lefferts and
-Gertrude--(yes, I suppose May was right to have
-them)--the Selfridge Merrys, Sillerton Jackson, Van
-Newland and his wife. (How time passes!  It seems only
-yesterday that he was your best man, Newland)--and
-Countess Olenska--yes, I think that's all. . . ."
-
-Mrs. Welland surveyed her son-in-law affectionately.
-"No one can say, Newland, that you and May are not
-giving Ellen a handsome send-off."
-
-"Ah, well," said Mrs. Archer, "I understand May's
-wanting her cousin to tell people abroad that we're not
-quite barbarians."
-
-"I'm sure Ellen will appreciate it.  She was to arrive
-this morning, I believe.  It will make a most charming
-last impression.  The evening before sailing is usually so
-dreary," Mrs. Welland cheerfully continued.
-
-Archer turned toward the door, and his mother-in-
-law called to him:  "Do go in and have a peep at the
-table.  And don't let May tire herself too much."  But he
-affected not to hear, and sprang up the stairs to his
-library.  The room looked at him like an alien countenance
-composed into a polite grimace; and he perceived
-that it had been ruthlessly "tidied," and prepared,
-by a judicious distribution of ash-trays and cedar-wood
-boxes, for the gentlemen to smoke in.
-
-"Ah, well," he thought, "it's not for long--" and he
-went on to his dressing-room.
-
-Ten days had passed since Madame Olenska's departure
-from New York.  During those ten days Archer
-had had no sign from her but that conveyed by the
-return of a key wrapped in tissue paper, and sent to his
-office in a sealed envelope addressed in her hand.  This
-retort to his last appeal might have been interpreted as
-a classic move in a familiar game; but the young man
-chose to give it a different meaning.  She was still fighting
-against her fate; but she was going to Europe, and
-she was not returning to her husband.  Nothing, therefore,
-was to prevent his following her; and once he had
-taken the irrevocable step, and had proved to her that
-it was irrevocable, he believed she would not send him
-away.
-
-This confidence in the future had steadied him to
-play his part in the present.  It had kept him from
-writing to her, or betraying, by any sign or act, his
-misery and mortification.  It seemed to him that in the
-deadly silent game between them the trumps were still
-in his hands; and he waited.
-
-There had been, nevertheless, moments sufficiently
-difficult to pass; as when Mr. Letterblair, the day after
-Madame Olenska's departure, had sent for him to go
-over the details of the trust which Mrs. Manson Mingott
-wished to create for her granddaughter.  For a couple of
-hours Archer had examined the terms of the deed with
-his senior, all the while obscurely feeling that if he had
-been consulted it was for some reason other than the
-obvious one of his cousinship; and that the close of the
-conference would reveal it.
-
-"Well, the lady can't deny that it's a handsome
-arrangement," Mr. Letterblair had summed up, after
-mumbling over a summary of the settlement.  "In fact
-I'm bound to say she's been treated pretty handsomely
-all round."
-
-"All round?" Archer echoed with a touch of
-derision.  "Do you refer to her husband's proposal to give
-her back her own money?"
-
-Mr. Letterblair's bushy eyebrows went up a fraction
-of an inch.  "My dear sir, the law's the law; and your
-wife's cousin was married under the French law.  It's to
-be presumed she knew what that meant."
-
-"Even if she did, what happened subsequently--."
-But Archer paused.  Mr. Letterblair had laid his pen-
-handle against his big corrugated nose, and was looking
-down it with the expression assumed by virtuous
-elderly gentlemen when they wish their youngers to
-understand that virtue is not synonymous with ignorance.
-
-"My dear sir, I've no wish to extenuate the Count's
-transgressions; but--but on the other side . . . I wouldn't
-put my hand in the fire . . . well, that there hadn't been
-tit for tat . . . with the young champion. . . ."  Mr.
-Letterblair unlocked a drawer and pushed a folded
-paper toward Archer.  "This report, the result of discreet
-enquiries . . ."  And then, as Archer made no
-effort to glance at the paper or to repudiate the suggestion,
-the lawyer somewhat flatly continued:  "I don't
-say it's conclusive, you observe; far from it.  But straws
-show . . . and on the whole it's eminently satisfactory
-for all parties that this dignified solution has been
-reached."
-
-"Oh, eminently," Archer assented, pushing back the
-paper.
-
-A day or two later, on responding to a summons
-from Mrs. Manson Mingott, his soul had been more
-deeply tried.
-
-He had found the old lady depressed and querulous.
-
-"You know she's deserted me?" she began at once;
-and without waiting for his reply:  "Oh, don't ask me
-why!  She gave so many reasons that I've forgotten
-them all.  My private belief is that she couldn't face the
-boredom.  At any rate that's what Augusta and my
-daughters-in-law think.  And I don't know that I
-altogether blame her.  Olenski's a finished scoundrel; but
-life with him must have been a good deal gayer than it
-is in Fifth Avenue.  Not that the family would admit
-that: they think Fifth Avenue is Heaven with the rue de
-la Paix thrown in.  And poor Ellen, of course, has no
-idea of going back to her husband.  She held out as
-firmly as ever against that.  So she's to settle down in
-Paris with that fool Medora. . . .  Well, Paris is Paris;
-and you can keep a carriage there on next to nothing.
-But she was as gay as a bird, and I shall miss her."
-Two tears, the parched tears of the old, rolled down
-her puffy cheeks and vanished in the abysses of her
-bosom.
-
-"All I ask is," she concluded, "that they shouldn't
-bother me any more.  I must really be allowed to digest
-my gruel. . . ."  And she twinkled a little wistfully at
-Archer.
-
-It was that evening, on his return home, that May
-announced her intention of giving a farewell dinner to
-her cousin.  Madame Olenska's name had not been
-pronounced between them since the night of her flight
-to Washington; and Archer looked at his wife with
-surprise.
-
-"A dinner--why?" he interrogated.
-
-Her colour rose.  "But you like Ellen--I thought you'd
-be pleased."
-
-"It's awfully nice--your putting it in that way.  But I
-really don't see--"
-
-"I mean to do it, Newland," she said, quietly rising
-and going to her desk.  "Here are the invitations all
-written.  Mother helped me--she agrees that we ought
-to."  She paused, embarrassed and yet smiling, and
-Archer suddenly saw before him the embodied image
-of the Family.
-
-"Oh, all right," he said, staring with unseeing eyes at
-the list of guests that she had put in his hand.
-
-When he entered the drawing-room before dinner May
-was stooping over the fire and trying to coax the logs
-to burn in their unaccustomed setting of immaculate
-tiles.
-
-The tall lamps were all lit, and Mr. van der Luyden's
-orchids had been conspicuously disposed in various
-receptacles of modern porcelain and knobby silver.  Mrs.
-Newland Archer's drawing-room was generally thought
-a great success.  A gilt bamboo jardiniere, in which
-the primulas and cinerarias were punctually renewed,
-blocked the access to the bay window (where the old-
-fashioned would have preferred a bronze reduction of
-the Venus of Milo); the sofas and arm-chairs of pale
-brocade were cleverly grouped about little plush tables
-densely covered with silver toys, porcelain animals and
-efflorescent photograph frames; and tall rosy-shaded
-lamps shot up like tropical flowers among the palms.
-
-"I don't think Ellen has ever seen this room lighted
-up," said May, rising flushed from her struggle, and
-sending about her a glance of pardonable pride.  The
-brass tongs which she had propped against the side of
-the chimney fell with a crash that drowned her husband's
-answer; and before he could restore them Mr.
-and Mrs. van der Luyden were announced.
-
-The other guests quickly followed, for it was known
-that the van der Luydens liked to dine punctually.  The
-room was nearly full, and Archer was engaged in showing
-to Mrs. Selfridge Merry a small highly-varnished
-Verbeckhoven "Study of Sheep," which Mr. Welland
-had given May for Christmas, when he found Madame
-Olenska at his side.
-
-She was excessively pale, and her pallor made her
-dark hair seem denser and heavier than ever.  Perhaps
-that, or the fact that she had wound several rows of
-amber beads about her neck, reminded him suddenly of
-the little Ellen Mingott he had danced with at children's
-parties, when Medora Manson had first brought
-her to New York.
-
-The amber beads were trying to her complexion, or
-her dress was perhaps unbecoming: her face looked
-lustreless and almost ugly, and he had never loved it as
-he did at that minute.  Their hands met, and he thought
-he heard her say:  "Yes, we're sailing tomorrow in the
-Russia--"; then there was an unmeaning noise of opening
-doors, and after an interval May's voice:  "Newland!
-Dinner's been announced.  Won't you please take Ellen
-in?"
-
-Madame Olenska put her hand on his arm, and he
-noticed that the hand was ungloved, and remembered
-how he had kept his eyes fixed on it the evening that he
-had sat with her in the little Twenty-third Street drawing-
-room.  All the beauty that had forsaken her face seemed
-to have taken refuge in the long pale fingers and faintly
-dimpled knuckles on his sleeve, and he said to himself:
-"If it were only to see her hand again I  should  have  to
-follow her--."
-
-It was only at an entertainment ostensibly offered to
-a "foreign visitor" that Mrs. van der Luyden could
-suffer the diminution of being placed on her host's left.
-The fact of Madame Olenska's "foreignness" could
-hardly have been more adroitly emphasised than by
-this farewell tribute; and Mrs. van der Luyden accepted
-her displacement with an affability which left no doubt
-as to her approval.  There were certain things that had
-to be done, and if done at all, done handsomely and
-thoroughly; and one of these, in the old New York
-code, was the tribal rally around a kinswoman about
-to be eliminated from the tribe.  There was nothing on
-earth that the Wellands and Mingotts would not have
-done to proclaim their unalterable affection for the
-Countess Olenska now that her passage for Europe
-was engaged; and Archer, at the head of his table, sat
-marvelling at the silent untiring activity with which her
-popularity had been retrieved, grievances against her
-silenced, her past countenanced, and her present irradiated
-by the family approval.  Mrs. van der Luyden
-shone on her with the dim benevolence which was her
-nearest approach to cordiality, and Mr. van der Luyden,
-from his seat at May's right, cast down the table glances
-plainly intended to justify all the carnations he had sent
-from Skuytercliff.
-
-Archer, who seemed to be assisting at the scene in a
-state of odd imponderability, as if he floated somewhere
-between chandelier and ceiling, wondered at
-nothing so much as his own share in the proceedings.
-As his glance travelled from one placid well-fed face to
-another he saw all the harmless-looking people engaged
-upon May's canvas-backs as a band of dumb conspirators,
-and himself and the pale woman on his right as
-the centre of their conspiracy.  And then it came over
-him, in a vast flash made up of many broken gleams,
-that to all of them he and Madame Olenska were
-lovers, lovers in the extreme sense peculiar to "foreign"
-vocabularies.  He guessed himself to have been, for
-months, the centre of countless silently observing eyes
-and patiently listening ears; he understood that, by
-means as yet unknown to him, the separation between
-himself and the partner of his guilt had been achieved,
-and that now the whole tribe had rallied about his wife
-on the tacit assumption that nobody knew anything, or
-had ever imagined anything, and that the occasion of
-the entertainment was simply May Archer's natural
-desire to take an affectionate leave of her friend and
-cousin.
-
-It was the old New York way of taking life "without
-effusion of blood": the way of people who dreaded
-scandal more than disease, who placed decency above
-courage, and who considered that nothing was more
-ill-bred than "scenes," except the behaviour of those
-who gave rise to them.
-
-As these thoughts succeeded each other in his mind
-Archer felt like a prisoner in the centre of an armed
-camp.  He looked about the table, and guessed at the
-inexorableness of his captors from the tone in which,
-over the asparagus from Florida, they were dealing
-with Beaufort and his wife.  "It's to show me," he
-thought, "what would happen to ME--" and a deathly
-sense of the superiority of implication and analogy over
-direct action, and of silence over rash words, closed in
-on him like the doors of the family vault.
-
-He laughed, and met Mrs. van der Luyden's startled
-eyes.
-
-"You think it laughable?" she said with a pinched
-smile.  "Of course poor Regina's idea of remaining in
-New York has its ridiculous side, I suppose;" and
-Archer muttered:  "Of course."
-
-At this point, he became conscious that Madame
-Olenska's other neighbour had been engaged for some
-time with the lady on his right.  At the same moment he
-saw that May, serenely enthroned between Mr. van der
-Luyden and Mr. Selfridge Merry, had cast a quick
-glance down the table.  It was evident that the host and
-the lady on his right could not sit through the whole
-meal in silence.  He turned to Madame Olenska, and
-her pale smile met him.  "Oh, do let's see it through," it
-seemed to say.
-
-"Did you find the journey tiring?" he asked in a
-voice that surprised him by its naturalness; and she
-answered that, on the contrary, she had seldom travelled
-with fewer discomforts.
-
-"Except, you know, the dreadful heat in the train,"
-she added; and he remarked that she would not suffer
-from that particular hardship in the country she was
-going to.
-
-"I never," he declared with intensity, "was more
-nearly frozen than once, in April, in the train between
-Calais and Paris."
-
-She said she did not wonder, but remarked that,
-after all, one could always carry an extra rug, and that
-every form of travel had its hardships; to which he
-abruptly returned that he thought them all of no account
-compared with the blessedness of getting away.
-She changed colour, and he added, his voice suddenly
-rising in pitch:  "I mean to do a lot of travelling myself
-before long."  A tremor crossed her face, and leaning
-over to Reggie Chivers, he cried out:  "I say, Reggie,
-what do you say to a trip round the world: now, next
-month, I mean?  I'm game if you are--" at which Mrs.
-Reggie piped up that she could not think of letting
-Reggie go till after the Martha Washington Ball she
-was getting up for the Blind Asylum in Easter week;
-and her husband placidly observed that by that time he
-would have to be practising for the International Polo
-match.
-
-But Mr. Selfridge Merry had caught the phrase "round
-the world," and having once circled the globe in his
-steam-yacht, he seized the opportunity to send down
-the table several striking items concerning the shallowness
-of the Mediterranean ports.  Though, after all, he
-added, it didn't matter; for when you'd seen Athens
-and Smyrna and Constantinople, what else was there?
-And Mrs. Merry said she could never be too grateful to
-Dr. Bencomb for having made them promise not to go
-to Naples on account of the fever.
-
-"But you must have three weeks to do India properly,"
-her husband conceded, anxious to have it understood
-that he was no frivolous globe-trotter.
-
-And at this point the ladies went up to the drawing-
-room.
-
-In the library, in spite of weightier presences, Lawrence
-Lefferts predominated.
-
-The talk, as usual, had veered around to the Beauforts,
-and even Mr. van der Luyden and Mr. Selfridge
-Merry, installed in the honorary arm-chairs tacitly
-reserved for them, paused to listen to the younger man's
-philippic.
-
-Never had Lefferts so abounded in the sentiments
-that adorn Christian manhood and exalt the sanctity of
-the home.  Indignation lent him a scathing eloquence,
-and it was clear that if others had followed his example,
-and acted as he talked, society would never have
-been weak enough to receive a foreign upstart like
-Beaufort--no, sir, not even if he'd married a van der
-Luyden or a Lanning instead of a Dallas.  And what
-chance would there have been, Lefferts wrathfully
-questioned, of his marrying into such a family as the Dallases,
-if he had not already wormed his way into certain
-houses, as people like Mrs. Lemuel Struthers had managed
-to worm theirs in his wake?  If society chose to
-open its doors to vulgar women the harm was not
-great, though the gain was doubtful; but once it got in
-the way of tolerating men of obscure origin and tainted
-wealth the end was total disintegration--and at no
-distant date.
-
-"If things go on at this pace," Lefferts thundered,
-looking like a young prophet dressed by Poole, and
-who had not yet been stoned, "we shall see our children
-fighting for invitations to swindlers' houses, and
-marrying Beaufort's bastards."
-
-"Oh, I say--draw it mild!" Reggie Chivers and young
-Newland protested, while Mr. Selfridge Merry looked
-genuinely alarmed, and an expression of pain and disgust
-settled on Mr. van der Luyden's sensitive face.
-
-"Has he got any?" cried Mr. Sillerton Jackson,
-pricking up his ears; and while Lefferts tried to turn the
-question with a laugh, the old gentleman twittered into
-Archer's ear:  "Queer, those fellows who are always
-wanting to set things right.  The people who have the
-worst cooks are always telling you they're poisoned
-when they dine out.  But I hear there are pressing reasons
-for our friend Lawrence's diatribe:--typewriter
-this time, I understand. . . ."
-
-The talk swept past Archer like some senseless river
-running and running because it did not know enough
-to stop.  He saw, on the faces about him, expressions of
-interest, amusement and even mirth.  He listened to the
-younger men's laughter, and to the praise of the Archer
-Madeira, which Mr. van der Luyden and Mr. Merry
-were thoughtfully celebrating.  Through it all he was
-dimly aware of a general attitude of friendliness toward
-himself, as if the guard of the prisoner he felt himself to
-be were trying to soften his captivity; and the perception
-increased his passionate determination to be free.
-
-In the drawing-room, where they presently joined the
-ladies, he met May's triumphant eyes, and read in them
-the conviction that everything had "gone off" beautifully.
-She rose from Madame Olenska's side, and immediately
-Mrs. van der Luyden beckoned the latter to a
-seat on the gilt sofa where she throned.  Mrs. Selfridge
-Merry bore across the room to join them, and it became
-clear to Archer that here also a conspiracy of
-rehabilitation and obliteration was going on.  The silent
-organisation which held his little world together was
-determined to put itself on record as never for a moment
-having questioned the propriety of Madame Olenska's
-conduct, or the completeness of Archer's domestic
-felicity.  All these amiable and inexorable persons were
-resolutely engaged in pretending to each other that they
-had never heard of, suspected, or even conceived possible,
-the least hint to the contrary; and from this tissue
-of elaborate mutual dissimulation Archer once more
-disengaged the fact that New York believed him to be
-Madame Olenska's lover.  He caught the glitter of victory
-in his wife's eyes, and for the first time understood
-that she shared the belief.  The discovery roused a laughter
-of inner devils that reverberated through all his
-efforts to discuss the Martha Washington ball with
-Mrs. Reggie Chivers and little Mrs. Newland; and so
-the evening swept on, running and running like a senseless
-river that did not know how to stop.
-
-At length he saw that Madame Olenska had risen
-and was saying good-bye.  He understood that in a
-moment she would be gone, and tried to remember
-what he had said to her at dinner; but he could not
-recall a single word they had exchanged.
-
-She went up to May, the rest of the company making
-a circle about her as she advanced.  The two young
-women clasped hands; then May bent forward and
-kissed her cousin.
-
-"Certainly our hostess is much the handsomer of the
-two," Archer heard Reggie Chivers say in an undertone
-to young Mrs. Newland; and he remembered Beaufort's
-coarse sneer at May's ineffectual beauty.
-
-A moment later he was in the hall, putting Madame
-Olenska's cloak about her shoulders.
-
-Through all his confusion of mind he had held fast
-to the resolve to say nothing that might startle or
-disturb her.  Convinced that no power could now turn
-him from his purpose he had found strength to let
-events shape themselves as they would.  But as he
-followed Madame Olenska into the hall he thought with a
-sudden hunger of being for a moment alone with her at
-the door of her carriage.
-
-"Is your carriage here?" he asked; and at that
-moment Mrs. van der Luyden, who was being majestically
-inserted into her sables, said gently:  "We are driving
-dear Ellen home."
-
-Archer's heart gave a jerk, and Madame Olenska,
-clasping her cloak and fan with one hand, held out the
-other to him.  "Good-bye," she said.
-
-"Good-bye--but I shall see you soon in Paris," he
-answered aloud--it seemed to him that he had shouted
-it.
-
-"Oh," she murmured, "if you and May could
-come--!"
-
-Mr. van der Luyden advanced to give her his arm,
-and Archer turned to Mrs. van der Luyden.  For a
-moment, in the billowy darkness inside the big landau,
-he caught the dim oval of a face, eyes shining steadily--
-and she was gone.
-
-As he went up the steps he crossed Lawrence Lefferts
-coming down with his wife.  Lefferts caught his host by
-the sleeve, drawing back to let Gertrude pass.
-
-"I say, old chap: do you mind just letting it be
-understood that I'm dining with you at the club tomorrow
-night?  Thanks so much, you old brick!  Good-night."
-
-"It DID go off beautifully, didn't it?" May questioned
-from the threshold of the library.
-
-Archer roused himself with a start.  As soon as the
-last carriage had driven away, he had come up to the
-library and shut himself in, with the hope that his wife,
-who still lingered below, would go straight to her room.
-But there she stood, pale and drawn, yet radiating the
-factitious energy of one who has passed beyond fatigue.
-
-"May I come and talk it over?" she asked.
-
-"Of course, if you like.  But you must be awfully
-sleepy--"
-
-"No, I'm not sleepy.  I should like to sit with you a
-little."
-
-"Very well," he said, pushing her chair near the fire.
-
-She sat down and he resumed his seat; but neither
-spoke for a long time.  At length Archer began abruptly:
-"Since you're not tired, and want to talk, there's something
-I must tell you.  I tried to the other night--."
-
-She looked at him quickly.  "Yes, dear.  Something
-about yourself?"
-
-"About myself.  You say you're not tired: well, I am.
-Horribly tired . . ."
-
-In an instant she was all tender anxiety.  "Oh, I've
-seen it coming on, Newland!  You've been so wickedly
-overworked--"
-
-"Perhaps it's that.  Anyhow, I want to make a break--"
-
-"A break?  To give up the law?"
-
-"To go away, at any rate--at once.  On a long trip,
-ever so far off--away from everything--"
-
-He paused, conscious that he had failed in his attempt
-to speak with the indifference of a man who
-longs for a change, and is yet too weary to welcome it.
-Do what he would, the chord of eagerness vibrated.
-"Away from everything--" he repeated.
-
-"Ever so far?  Where, for instance?" she asked.
-
-"Oh, I don't know.  India--or Japan."
-
-She stood up, and as he sat with bent head, his chin
-propped on his hands, he felt her warmly and fragrantly
-hovering over him.
-
-"As far as that?  But I'm afraid you can't, dear . . ."
-she said in an unsteady voice.  "Not unless you'll take
-me with you."  And then, as he was silent, she went on,
-in tones so clear and evenly-pitched that each separate
-syllable tapped like a little hammer on his brain:  "That
-is, if the doctors will let me go . . . but I'm afraid they
-won't.  For you see, Newland, I've been sure since this
-morning of something I've been so longing and hoping
-for--"
-
-He looked up at her with a sick stare, and she sank
-down, all dew and roses, and hid her face against his
-knee.
-
-"Oh, my dear," he said, holding her to him while his
-cold hand stroked her hair.
-
-There was a long pause, which the inner devils filled
-with strident laughter; then May freed herself from his
-arms and stood up.
-
-"You didn't guess--?"
-
-"Yes--I; no.  That is, of course I hoped--"
-
-They looked at each other for an instant and again
-fell silent; then, turning his eyes from hers, he asked
-abruptly:  "Have you told any one else?"
-
-"Only Mamma and your mother."  She paused, and
-then added hurriedly, the blood flushing up to her
-forehead:  "That is--and Ellen.  You know I told you
-we'd had a long talk one afternoon--and how dear she
-was to me."
-
-"Ah--" said Archer, his heart stopping.
-
-He felt that his wife was watching him intently.  "Did
-you MIND my telling her first, Newland?"
-
-"Mind?  Why should I?"  He made a last effort to
-collect himself.  "But that was a fortnight ago, wasn't
-it?  I thought you said you weren't sure till today."
-
-Her colour burned deeper, but she held his gaze.
-"No; I wasn't sure then--but I told her I was.  And you
-see I was right!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes wet with
-victory.
-
-
-
-XXXIV.
-
-Newland Archer sat at the writing-table in his library
-in East Thirty-ninth Street.
-
-He had just got back from a big official reception for
-the inauguration of the new galleries at the Metropolitan
-Museum, and the spectacle of those great spaces
-crowded with the spoils of the ages, where the throng
-of fashion circulated through a series of scientifically
-catalogued treasures, had suddenly pressed on a rusted
-spring of memory.
-
-"Why, this used to be one of the old Cesnola rooms,"
-he heard some one say; and instantly everything about
-him vanished, and he was sitting alone on a hard
-leather divan against a radiator, while a slight figure in
-a long sealskin cloak moved away down the meagrely-
-fitted vista of the old Museum.
-
-The vision had roused a host of other associations,
-and he sat looking with new eyes at the library which,
-for over thirty years, had been the scene of his solitary
-musings and of all the family confabulations.
-
-It was the room in which most of the real things of
-his life had happened.  There his wife, nearly twenty-six
-years ago, had broken to him, with a blushing
-circumlocution that would have caused the young women of
-the new generation to smile, the news that she was to
-have a child; and there their eldest boy, Dallas, too
-delicate to be taken to church in midwinter, had been
-christened by their old friend the Bishop of New York,
-the ample magnificent irreplaceable Bishop, so long the
-pride and ornament of his diocese.  There Dallas had
-first staggered across the floor shouting "Dad," while
-May and the nurse laughed behind the door; there their
-second child, Mary (who was so like her mother), had
-announced her engagement to the dullest and most
-reliable of Reggie Chivers's many sons; and there Archer
-had kissed her through her wedding veil before they
-went down to the motor which was to carry them to
-Grace Church--for in a world where all else had reeled
-on its foundations the "Grace Church wedding"
-remained an unchanged institution.
-
-It was in the library that he and May had always
-discussed the future of the children: the studies of
-Dallas and his young brother Bill, Mary's incurable
-indifference to "accomplishments," and passion for
-sport and philanthropy, and the vague leanings toward
-"art" which had finally landed the restless and curious
-Dallas in the office of a rising New York architect.
-
-The young men nowadays were emancipating
-themselves from the law and business and taking up all sorts
-of new things.  If they were not absorbed in state politics
-or municipal reform, the chances were that they
-were going in for Central American archaeology, for
-architecture or landscape-engineering; taking a keen
-and learned interest in the prerevolutionary buildings
-of their own country, studying and adapting Georgian
-types, and protesting at the meaningless use of the
-word "Colonial."  Nobody nowadays had "Colonial"
-houses except the millionaire grocers of the suburbs.
-
-But above all--sometimes Archer put it above all--it
-was in that library that the Governor of New York,
-coming down from Albany one evening to dine and
-spend the night, had turned to his host, and said,
-banging his clenched fist on the table and gnashing his
-eye-glasses:  "Hang the professional politician!  You're
-the kind of man the country wants, Archer.  If the
-stable's ever to be cleaned out, men like you have got
-to lend a hand in the cleaning."
-
-"Men like you--" how Archer had glowed at the
-phrase!  How eagerly he had risen up at the call!  It was
-an echo of Ned Winsett's old appeal to roll his sleeves
-up and get down into the muck; but spoken by a man
-who set the example of the gesture, and whose summons
-to follow him was irresistible.
-
-Archer, as he looked back, was not sure that men
-like himself WERE what his country needed, at least in
-the active service to which Theodore Roosevelt had
-pointed; in fact, there was reason to think it did not,
-for after a year in the State Assembly he had not been
-re-elected, and had dropped back thankfully into
-obscure if useful municipal work, and from that again to
-the writing of occasional articles in one of the
-reforming weeklies that were trying to shake the country
-out of its apathy.  It was little enough to look back on;
-but when he remembered to what the young men of his
-generation and his set had looked forward--the narrow
-groove of money-making, sport and society to
-which their vision had been limited--even his small
-contribution to the new state of things seemed to count,
-as each brick counts in a well-built wall.  He had done
-little in public life; he would always be by nature a
-contemplative and a dilettante; but he had had high
-things to contemplate, great things to delight in; and
-one great man's friendship to be his strength and pride.
-
-He had been, in short, what people were beginning
-to call "a good citizen."  In New York, for many years
-past, every new movement, philanthropic, municipal or
-artistic, had taken account of his opinion and wanted
-his name.  People said:  "Ask Archer" when there was a
-question of starting the first school for crippled children,
-reorganising the Museum of Art, founding the
-Grolier Club, inaugurating the new Library, or getting
-up a new society of chamber music.  His days were full,
-and they were filled decently.  He supposed it was all a
-man ought to ask.
-
-Something he knew he had missed: the flower of life.
-But he thought of it now as a thing so unattainable
-and improbable that to have repined would have been
-like despairing because one had not drawn the first prize
-in a lottery.  There were a hundred million tickets in HIS
-lottery, and there was only one prize; the chances had
-been too decidedly against him.  When he thought of Ellen
-Olenska it was abstractly, serenely, as one might think
-of some imaginary beloved in a book or a picture: she
-had become the composite vision of all that he had
-missed.  That vision, faint and tenuous as it was, had kept
-him from thinking of other women.  He had been what
-was called a faithful husband; and when May had
-suddenly died--carried off by the infectious pneumonia
-through which she had nursed their youngest child--he
-had honestly mourned her.  Their long years together had
-shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was
-a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of a duty: lapsing
-from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites.
-Looking about him, he honoured his own past, and
-mourned for it.  After all, there was good in the old ways.
-
-His eyes, making the round of the room--done over
-by Dallas with English mezzotints, Chippendale cabinets,
-bits of chosen blue-and-white and pleasantly shaded
-electric lamps--came back to the old Eastlake writing-
-table that he had never been willing to banish, and to
-his first photograph of May, which still kept its place
-beside his inkstand.
-
-There she was, tall, round-bosomed and willowy, in
-her starched muslin and flapping Leghorn, as he had
-seen her under the orange-trees in the Mission garden.
-And as he had seen her that day, so she had remained;
-never quite at the same height, yet never far below it:
-generous, faithful, unwearied; but so lacking in
-imagination, so incapable of growth, that the world of her
-youth had fallen into pieces and rebuilt itself without
-her ever being conscious of the change.  This hard bright
-blindness had kept her immediate horizon apparently
-unaltered.  Her incapacity to recognise change made her
-children conceal their views from her as Archer concealed
-his; there had been, from the first, a joint pretence
-of sameness, a kind of innocent family hypocrisy,
-in which father and children had unconsciously
-collaborated.  And she had died thinking the world a good
-place, full of loving and harmonious households like
-her own, and resigned to leave it because she was
-convinced that, whatever happened, Newland would
-continue to inculcate in Dallas the same principles and
-prejudices which had shaped his parents' lives, and that
-Dallas in turn (when Newland followed her) would
-transmit the sacred trust to little Bill.  And of Mary she
-was sure as of her own self.  So, having snatched little
-Bill from the grave, and given her life in the effort, she
-went contentedly to her place in the Archer vault in St.
-Mark's, where Mrs. Archer already lay safe from the
-terrifying "trend" which her daughter-in-law had never
-even become aware of.
-
-Opposite May's portrait stood one of her daughter.
-Mary Chivers was as tall and fair as her mother, but
-large-waisted, flat-chested and slightly slouching, as the
-altered fashion required.  Mary Chivers's mighty feats
-of athleticism could not have been performed with the
-twenty-inch waist that May Archer's azure sash so
-easily spanned.  And the difference seemed symbolic;
-the mother's life had been as closely girt as her figure.
-Mary, who was no less conventional, and no more
-intelligent, yet led a larger life and held more tolerant
-views.  There was good in the new order too.
-
-The telephone clicked, and Archer, turning from the
-photographs, unhooked the transmitter at his elbow.
-How far they were from the days when the legs of the
-brass-buttoned messenger boy had been New York's
-only means of quick communication!
-
-"Chicago wants you."
-
-Ah--it must be a long-distance from Dallas, who
-had been sent to Chicago by his firm to talk over the
-plan of the Lakeside palace they were to build for a
-young millionaire with ideas.  The firm always sent
-Dallas on such errands.
-
-"Hallo, Dad--Yes: Dallas.  I say--how do you feel
-about sailing on Wednesday?  Mauretania: Yes, next
-Wednesday as ever is.  Our client wants me to look at
-some Italian gardens before we settle anything, and has
-asked me to nip over on the next boat.  I've got to be
-back on the first of June--" the voice broke into a
-joyful conscious laugh--"so we must look alive.  I say,
-Dad, I want your help: do come."
-
-Dallas seemed to be speaking in the room: the voice
-was as near by and natural as if he had been lounging
-in his favourite arm-chair by the fire.  The fact would
-not ordinarily have surprised Archer, for long-distance
-telephoning had become as much a matter of course as
-electric lighting and five-day Atlantic voyages.  But the
-laugh did startle him; it still seemed wonderful that
-across all those miles and miles of country--forest,
-river, mountain, prairie, roaring cities and busy indifferent
-millions--Dallas's laugh should be able to say:
-"Of course, whatever happens, I must get back on the
-first, because Fanny Beaufort and I are to be married
-on the fifth."
-
-The voice began again:  "Think it over?  No, sir: not a
-minute.  You've got to say yes now.  Why not, I'd like to
-know?  If you can allege a single reason--No; I knew it.
-Then it's a go, eh?  Because I count on you to ring up
-the Cunard office first thing tomorrow; and you'd better
-book a return on a boat from Marseilles.  I say,
-Dad; it'll be our last time together, in this kind of
-way--.  Oh, good!  I knew you would."
-
-Chicago rang off, and Archer rose and began to pace
-up and down the room.
-
-It would be their last time together in this kind of
-way: the boy was right.  They would have lots of other
-"times" after Dallas's marriage, his father was sure; for
-the two were born comrades, and Fanny Beaufort,
-whatever one might think of her, did not seem likely to
-interfere with their intimacy.  On the contrary, from
-what he had seen of her, he thought she would be
-naturally included in it.  Still, change was change, and
-differences were differences, and much as he felt himself
-drawn toward his future daughter-in-law, it was
-tempting to seize this last chance of being alone with
-his boy.
-
-There was no reason why he should not seize it,
-except the profound one that he had lost the habit of
-travel.  May had disliked to move except for valid reasons,
-such as taking the children to the sea or in the
-mountains: she could imagine no other motive for leaving
-the house in Thirty-ninth Street or their comfortable
-quarters at the Wellands' in Newport.  After Dallas
-had taken his degree she had thought it her duty to
-travel for six months; and the whole family had made
-the old-fashioned tour through England, Switzerland
-and Italy.  Their time being limited (no one knew why)
-they had omitted France.  Archer remembered Dallas's
-wrath at being asked to contemplate Mont Blanc
-instead of Rheims and Chartres.  But Mary and Bill wanted
-mountain-climbing, and had already yawned their way
-in Dallas's wake through the English cathedrals; and
-May, always fair to her children, had insisted on holding
-the balance evenly between their athletic and artistic
-proclivities.  She had indeed proposed that her husband
-should go to Paris for a fortnight, and join them on the
-Italian lakes after they had "done" Switzerland; but
-Archer had declined.  "We'll stick together," he said;
-and May's face had brightened at his setting such a
-good example to Dallas.
-
-Since her death, nearly two years before, there had
-been no reason for his continuing in the same routine.
-His children had urged him to travel: Mary Chivers
-had felt sure it would do him good to go abroad and
-"see the galleries."  The very mysteriousness of such a
-cure made her the more confident of its efficacy.  But
-Archer had found himself held fast by habit, by memories,
-by a sudden startled shrinking from new things.
-
-Now, as he reviewed his past, he saw into what a
-deep rut he had sunk.  The worst of doing one's duty
-was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything
-else.  At least that was the view that the men of his
-generation had taken.  The trenchant divisions between
-right and wrong, honest and dishonest, respectable and
-the reverse, had left so little scope for the unforeseen.
-There are moments when a man's imagination, so easily
-subdued to what it lives in, suddenly rises above its
-daily level, and surveys the long windings of destiny.
-Archer hung there and wondered. . . .
-
-What was left of the little world he had grown up in,
-and whose standards had bent and bound him?  He
-remembered a sneering prophecy of poor Lawrence
-Lefferts's, uttered years ago in that very room:  "If
-things go on at this rate, our children will be marrying
-Beaufort's bastards."
-
-It was just what Archer's eldest son, the pride of his
-life, was doing; and nobody wondered or reproved.
-Even the boy's Aunt Janey, who still looked so exactly
-as she used to in her elderly youth, had taken her
-mother's emeralds and seed-pearls out of their pink
-cotton-wool, and carried them with her own twitching
-hands to the future bride; and Fanny Beaufort, instead
-of looking disappointed at not receiving a "set" from a
-Paris jeweller, had exclaimed at their old-fashioned
-beauty, and declared that when she wore them she
-should feel like an Isabey miniature.
-
-Fanny Beaufort, who had appeared in New York at
-eighteen, after the death of her parents, had won its
-heart much as Madame Olenska had won it thirty
-years earlier; only instead of being distrustful and afraid
-of her, society took her joyfully for granted.  She was
-pretty, amusing and accomplished: what more did any
-one want?  Nobody was narrow-minded enough to rake
-up against her the half-forgotten facts of her father's
-past and her own origin.  Only the older people remembered
-so obscure an incident in the business life of New
-York as Beaufort's failure, or the fact that after his
-wife's death he had been quietly married to the notorious
-Fanny Ring, and had left the country with his new
-wife, and a little girl who inherited her beauty.  He was
-subsequently heard of in Constantinople, then in Russia;
-and a dozen years later American travellers were
-handsomely entertained by him in Buenos Ayres, where
-he represented a large insurance agency.  He and his
-wife died there in the odour of prosperity; and one day
-their orphaned daughter had appeared in New York in
-charge of May Archer's sister-in-law, Mrs. Jack Welland,
-whose husband had been appointed the girl's
-guardian.  The fact threw her into almost cousinly
-relationship with Newland Archer's children, and nobody
-was surprised when Dallas's engagement was announced.
-
-Nothing could more dearly give the measure of the
-distance that the world had travelled.  People nowadays
-were too busy--busy with reforms and "movements,"
-with fads and fetishes and frivolities--to bother much
-about their neighbours.  And of what account was anybody's
-past, in the huge kaleidoscope where all the
-social atoms spun around on the same plane?
-
-Newland Archer, looking out of his hotel window at
-the stately gaiety of the Paris streets, felt his heart
-beating with the confusion and eagerness of youth.
-
-It was long since it had thus plunged and reared
-under his widening waistcoat, leaving him, the next
-minute, with an empty breast and hot temples.  He
-wondered if it was thus that his son's conducted itself
-in the presence of Miss Fanny Beaufort--and decided
-that it was not.  "It functions as actively, no doubt, but
-the rhythm is different," he reflected, recalling the cool
-composure with which the young man had announced
-his engagement, and taken for granted that his family
-would approve.
-
-"The difference is that these young people take it for
-granted that they're going to get whatever they want,
-and that we almost always took it for granted that we
-shouldn't.  Only, I wonder--the thing one's so certain
-of in advance: can it ever make one's heart beat as
-wildly?"
-
-It was the day after their arrival in Paris, and the
-spring sunshine held Archer in his open window, above
-the wide silvery prospect of the Place Vendome.  One
-of the things he had stipulated--almost the only one--
-when he had agreed to come abroad with Dallas, was
-that, in Paris, he shouldn't be made to go to one of the
-newfangled "palaces."
-
-"Oh, all right--of course," Dallas good-naturedly
-agreed.  "I'll take you to some jolly old-fashioned place--
-the Bristol say--" leaving his father speechless at hearing
-that the century-long home of kings and emperors
-was now spoken of as an old-fashioned inn, where one
-went for its quaint inconveniences and lingering local
-colour.
-
-Archer had pictured often enough, in the first impatient
-years, the scene of his return to Paris; then the
-personal vision had faded, and he had simply tried to
-see the city as the setting of Madame Olenska's life.
-Sitting alone at night in his library, after the household
-had gone to bed, he had evoked the radiant outbreak
-of spring down the avenues of horse-chestnuts, the flowers
-and statues in the public gardens, the whiff of lilacs
-from the flower-carts, the majestic roll of the river
-under the great bridges, and the life of art and study
-and pleasure that filled each mighty artery to bursting.
-Now the spectacle was before him in its glory, and as
-he looked out on it he felt shy, old-fashioned, inadequate:
-a mere grey speck of a man compared with the
-ruthless magnificent fellow he had dreamed of being. . . .
-
-Dallas's hand came down cheerily on his shoulder.
-"Hullo, father: this is something like, isn't it?"  They
-stood for a while looking out in silence, and then the
-young man continued:  "By the way, I've got a message
-for you: the Countess Olenska expects us both at half-
-past five."
-
-He said it lightly, carelessly, as he might have
-imparted any casual item of information, such as the hour
-at which their train was to leave for Florence the next
-evening.  Archer looked at him, and thought he saw in
-his gay young eyes a gleam of his great-grandmother
-Mingott's malice.
-
-"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Dallas pursued.  "Fanny made
-me swear to do three things while I was in Paris: get
-her the score of the last Debussy songs, go to the
-Grand-Guignol and see Madame Olenska.  You know
-she was awfully good to Fanny when Mr. Beaufort sent
-her over from Buenos Ayres to the Assomption.  Fanny
-hadn't any friends in Paris, and Madame Olenska used
-to be kind to her and trot her about on holidays.  I
-believe she was a great friend of the first Mrs. Beaufort's.
-And she's our cousin, of course.  So I rang her up
-this morning, before I went out, and told her you and I
-were here for two days and wanted to see her."
-
-Archer continued to stare at him.  "You told her I
-was here?"
-
-"Of course--why not?"  Dallas's eye brows went up
-whimsically.  Then, getting no answer, he slipped his
-arm through his father's with a confidential pressure.
-
-"I say, father: what was she like?"
-
-Archer felt his colour rise under his son's unabashed
-gaze.  "Come, own up: you and she were great pals,
-weren't you?  Wasn't she most awfully lovely?"
-
-"Lovely?  I don't know.  She was different."
-
-"Ah--there you have it!  That's what it always comes
-to, doesn't it?  When she comes, SHE'S DIFFERENT--and
-one doesn't know why.  It's exactly what I feel about
-Fanny."
-
-His father drew back a step, releasing his arm.  "About
-Fanny?  But, my dear fellow--I should hope so!  Only I
-don't see--"
-
-"Dash it, Dad, don't be prehistoric!  Wasn't she--
-once--your Fanny?"
-
-Dallas belonged body and soul to the new generation.
-He was the first-born of Newland and May Archer,
-yet it had never been possible to inculcate in him even
-the rudiments of reserve.  "What's the use of making
-mysteries?  It only makes people want to nose 'em out,"
-he always objected when enjoined to discretion.  But
-Archer, meeting his eyes, saw the filial light under their
-banter.
-
-"My Fanny?"
-
-"Well, the woman you'd have chucked everything
-for: only you didn't," continued his surprising son.
-
-"I didn't," echoed Archer with a kind of solemnity.
-
-"No: you date, you see, dear old boy.  But mother
-said--"
-
-"Your mother?"
-
-"Yes: the day before she died.  It was when she sent
-for me alone--you remember?  She said she knew we
-were safe with you, and always would be, because
-once, when she asked you to, you'd given up the thing
-you most wanted."
-
-Archer received this strange communication in silence.
-His eyes remained unseeingly fixed on the thronged
-sunlit square below the window.  At length he said in a
-low voice:  "She never asked me."
-
-"No.  I forgot.  You never did ask each other
-anything, did you?  And you never told each other
-anything.  You just sat and watched each other, and guessed
-at what was going on underneath.  A deaf-and-dumb
-asylum, in fact!  Well, I back your generation for knowing
-more about each other's private thoughts than we
-ever have time to find out about our own.--I say,
-Dad," Dallas broke off, "you're not angry with me?  If
-you are, let's make it up and go and lunch at Henri's.
-I've got to rush out to Versailles afterward."
-
-Archer did not accompany his son to Versailles.  He
-preferred to spend the afternoon in solitary roamings
-through Paris.  He had to deal all at once with the
-packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate
-lifetime.
-
-After a little while he did not regret Dallas's
-indiscretion.  It seemed to take an iron band from his heart
-to know that, after all, some one had guessed and
-pitied. . . .  And that it should have been his wife moved
-him indescribably.  Dallas, for all his affectionate
-insight, would not have understood that.  To the boy, no
-doubt, the episode was only a pathetic instance of vain
-frustration, of wasted forces.  But was it really no more?
-For a long time Archer sat on a bench in the Champs
-Elysees and wondered, while the stream of life rolled
-by. . . .
-
-A few streets away, a few hours away, Ellen Olenska
-waited.  She had never gone back to her husband, and
-when he had died, some years before, she had made no
-change in her way of living.  There was nothing now to
-keep her and Archer apart--and that afternoon he was
-to see her.
-
-He got up and walked across the Place de la Concorde
-and the Tuileries gardens to the Louvre.  She had
-once told him that she often went there, and he had a
-fancy to spend the intervening time in a place where he
-could think of her as perhaps having lately been.  For
-an hour or more he wandered from gallery to gallery
-through the dazzle of afternoon light, and one by one
-the pictures burst on him in their half-forgotten splendour,
-filling his soul with the long echoes of beauty.
-After all, his life had been too starved. . . .
-
-Suddenly, before an effulgent Titian, he found himself
-saying:  "But I'm only fifty-seven--" and then he
-turned away.  For such summer dreams it was too late;
-but surely not for a quiet harvest of friendship, of
-comradeship, in the blessed hush of her nearness.
-
-He went back to the hotel, where he and Dallas were
-to meet; and together they walked again across the
-Place de la Concorde and over the bridge that leads to
-the Chamber of Deputies.
-
-Dallas, unconscious of what was going on in his
-father's mind, was talking excitedly and abundantly of
-Versailles.  He had had but one previous glimpse of it,
-during a holiday trip in which he had tried to pack all
-the sights he had been deprived of when he had had to
-go with the family to Switzerland; and tumultuous
-enthusiasm and cock-sure criticism tripped each other
-up on his lips.
-
-As Archer listened, his sense of inadequacy and
-inexpressiveness increased.  The boy was not insensitive,
-he knew; but he had the facility and self-confidence
-that came of looking at fate not as a master but as an
-equal.  "That's it: they feel equal to things--they know
-their way about," he mused, thinking of his son as the
-spokesman of the new generation which had swept
-away all the old landmarks, and with them the sign-
-posts and the danger-signal.
-
-Suddenly Dallas stopped short, grasping his father's
-arm.  "Oh, by Jove," he exclaimed.
-
-They had come out into the great tree-planted space
-before the Invalides.  The dome of Mansart floated
-ethereally above the budding trees and the long grey
-front of the building: drawing up into itself all the rays
-of afternoon light, it hung there like the visible symbol
-of the race's glory.
-
-Archer knew that Madame Olenska lived in a square
-near one of the avenues radiating from the Invalides;
-and he had pictured the quarter as quiet and almost
-obscure, forgetting the central splendour that lit it up.
-Now, by some queer process of association, that golden
-light became for him the pervading illumination in
-which she lived.  For nearly thirty years, her life--of
-which he knew so strangely little--had been spent in
-this rich atmosphere that he already felt to be too dense
-and yet too stimulating for his lungs.  He thought of the
-theatres she must have been to, the pictures she must
-have looked at, the sober and splendid old houses she
-must have frequented, the people she must have talked
-with, the incessant stir of ideas, curiosities, images and
-associations thrown out by an intensely social race in a
-setting of immemorial manners; and suddenly he
-remembered the young Frenchman who had once said to
-him:  "Ah, good conversation--there is nothing like it,
-is there?"
-
-Archer had not seen M. Riviere, or heard of him,
-for nearly thirty years; and that fact gave the measure
-of his ignorance of Madame Olenska's existence.  More
-than half a lifetime divided them, and she had spent the
-long interval among people he did not know, in a
-society he but faintly guessed at, in conditions he would
-never wholly understand.  During that time he had been
-living with his youthful memory of her; but she had
-doubtless had other and more tangible companionship.
-Perhaps she too had kept her memory of him as something
-apart; but if she had, it must have been like a
-relic in a small dim chapel, where there was not time to
-pray every day. . . .
-
-They had crossed the Place des Invalides, and were
-walking down one of the thoroughfares flanking the
-building.  It was a quiet quarter, after all, in spite of its
-splendour and its history; and the fact gave one an idea
-of the riches Paris had to draw on, since such scenes as
-this were left to the few and the indifferent.
-
-The day was fading into a soft sun-shot haze, pricked
-here and there by a yellow electric light, and passers
-were rare in the little square into which they had turned.
-Dallas stopped again, and looked up.
-
-"It must be here," he said, slipping his arm through
-his father's with a movement from which Archer's shyness
-did not shrink; and they stood together looking up
-at the house.
-
-It was a modern building, without distinctive character,
-but many-windowed, and pleasantly balconied up
-its wide cream-coloured front.  On one of the upper
-balconies, which hung well above the rounded tops of
-the horse-chestnuts in the square, the awnings were still
-lowered, as though the sun had just left it.
-
-"I wonder which floor--?" Dallas conjectured; and
-moving toward the porte-cochere he put his head into
-the porter's lodge, and came back to say:  "The fifth.  It
-must be the one with the awnings."
-
-Archer remained motionless, gazing at the upper windows
-as if the end of their pilgrimage had been attained.
-
-"I say, you know, it's nearly six," his son at length
-reminded him.
-
-The father glanced away at an empty bench under
-the trees.
-
-"I believe I'll sit there a moment," he said.
-
-"Why--aren't you well?" his son exclaimed.
-
-"Oh, perfectly.  But I should like you, please, to go
-up without me."
-
-Dallas paused before him, visibly bewildered.  "But, I
-say, Dad: do you mean you won't come up at all?"
-
-"I don't know," said Archer slowly.
-
-"If you don't she won't understand."
-
-"Go, my boy; perhaps I shall follow you."
-
-Dallas gave him a long look through the twilight.
-
-"But what on earth shall I say?"
-
-"My dear fellow, don't you always know what to
-say?" his father rejoined with a smile.
-
-"Very well.  I shall say you're old-fashioned, and
-prefer walking up the five flights because you don't like
-lifts."
-
-His father smiled again.  "Say I'm old-fashioned: that's
-enough."
-
-Dallas looked at him again, and then, with an
-incredulous gesture, passed out of sight under the vaulted
-doorway.
-
-Archer sat down on the bench and continued to gaze
-at the awninged balcony.  He calculated the time it
-would take his son to be carried up in the lift to the
-fifth floor, to ring the bell, and be admitted to the hall,
-and then ushered into the drawing-room.  He pictured
-Dallas entering that room with his quick assured step
-and his delightful smile, and wondered if the people
-were right who said that his boy "took after him."
-
-Then he tried to see the persons already in the
-room--for probably at that sociable hour there would
-be more than one--and among them a dark lady, pale
-and dark, who would look up quickly, half rise, and
-hold out a long thin hand with three rings on it. . . .  He
-thought she would be sitting in a sofa-corner near the
-fire, with azaleas banked behind her on a table.
-
-"It's more real to me here than if I went up," he
-suddenly heard himself say; and the fear lest that last
-shadow of reality should lose its edge kept him rooted
-to his seat as the minutes succeeded each other.
-
-He sat for a long time on the bench in the thickening
-dusk, his eyes never turning from the balcony.  At length
-a light shone through the windows, and a moment later
-a man-servant came out on the balcony, drew up the
-awnings, and closed the shutters.
-
-At that, as if it had been the signal he waited for,
-Newland Archer got up slowly and walked back alone
-to his hotel.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-A Note on the Text
-
-
-The Age of Innocence first appeared in four large
-installments in The Pictorial Review, from July to
-October 1920.  It was published that same year in book
-form by D. Appleton and Company in New York and in
-London.  Wharton made extensive stylistic, punctuation,
-and spelling changes and revisions between the serial
-and book publication, and more than thirty subsequent
-changes were made after the second impression of the
-book edition had been run off.  This authoritative text
-is reprinted from the Library of America edition of
-Novels by Edith Wharton, and is based on the sixth
-impression of the first edition, which incorporates the
-last set of extensive revisions that are obviously authorial.
-
-
-
-
-
-End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Age of Innocence by Wharton
-
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