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

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 ashtrays and cedarwood 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?”