The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton (android based ebook reader .txt) 📕

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 Waxworks, 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