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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."
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