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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."
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