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diff --git a/old/agino10.txt b/old/agino10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 185e818..0000000 --- a/old/agino10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14277 +0,0 @@ -*The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Age of Innocence by Wharton* -#8 in our series by Edith Wharton - - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check -the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! - -Please take a look at the important information in this header. -We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an -electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and -further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* - - - - - -Etext prepared by Judith Boss, proofed by Charles Keller. - - - - - - -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 - |