The Age of Innocence

by Edith Wharton

  XXVIII.

  "Ol-ol--howjer spell it, anyhow?" asked the tart young lady to whomArcher had pushed his wife's telegram across the brass ledge of theWestern Union office.

  "Olenska--O-len-ska," he repeated, drawing back the message in order toprint out the foreign syllables above May's rambling script.

  "It's an unlikely name for a New York telegraph office; at least inthis quarter," an unexpected voice observed; and turning around Archersaw Lawrence Lefferts at his elbow, pulling an imperturbable moustacheand affecting not to glance at the message.

  "Hallo, Newland: thought I'd catch you here. I've just heard of oldMrs. Mingott's stroke; and as I was on my way to the house I saw youturning down this street and nipped after you. I suppose you've comefrom 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 intothe long vain handsome face at his side.

  "Why?" he questioned.

  Lefferts, who was known to shrink from discussion, raised his eye-browswith an ironic grimace that warned the other of the watching damselbehind the lattice. Nothing could be worse "form" the look remindedArcher, than any display of temper in a public place.

  Archer had never been more indifferent to the requirements of form; buthis impulse to do Lawrence Lefferts a physical injury was onlymomentary. The idea of bandying Ellen Olenska's name with him at sucha time, and on whatsoever provocation, was unthinkable. He paid forhis telegram, and the two young men went out together into the street.There Archer, having regained his self-control, went on: "Mrs. Mingottis much better: the doctor feels no anxiety whatever"; and Lefferts,with profuse expressions of relief, asked him if he had heard thatthere were beastly bad rumours again about Beaufort....

  That afternoon the announcement of the Beaufort failure was in all thepapers. It overshadowed the report of Mrs. Manson Mingott's stroke,and only the few who had heard of the mysterious connection between thetwo events thought of ascribing old Catherine's illness to anything butthe 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 hismemory, nor, for that matter, in the memory of the far-off Letterblairwho had given his name to the firm. The bank had continued to take inmoney for a whole day after its failure was inevitable; and as many ofits clients belonged to one or another of the ruling clans, Beaufort'sduplicity seemed doubly cynical. If Mrs. Beaufort had not taken thetone that such misfortunes (the word was her own) were "the test offriendship," compassion for her might have tempered the generalindignation against her husband. As it was--and especially after theobject of her nocturnal visit to Mrs. Manson Mingott had becomeknown--her cynicism was held to exceed his; and she had not theexcuse--nor her detractors the satisfaction--of pleading that she was"a foreigner." It was some comfort (to those whose securities were notin 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, andglibly talked of his soon being "on his feet again," the argument lostits edge, and there was nothing to do but to accept this awful evidenceof the indissolubility of marriage. Society must manage to get onwithout the Beauforts, and there was an end of it--except indeed forsuch hapless victims of the disaster as Medora Manson, the poor oldMiss 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 upas if she were pronouncing a diagnosis and prescribing a course oftreatment, "is to go and live at Regina's little place in NorthCarolina. Beaufort has always kept a racing stable, and he had betterbreed trotting horses. I should say he had all the qualities of asuccessful horsedealer." Every one agreed with her, but no onecondescended to enquire what the Beauforts really meant to do.

  The next day Mrs. Manson Mingott was much better: she recovered hervoice sufficiently to give orders that no one should mention theBeauforts to her again, and asked--when Dr. Bencomb appeared--what inthe 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 arethey to expect?" she enquired; and, the doctor having opportunelymodified her dietary, the stroke was transformed into an attack ofindigestion. But in spite of her firm tone old Catherine did notwholly recover her former attitude toward life. The growing remotenessof old age, though it had not diminished her curiosity about herneighbours, had blunted her never very lively compassion for theirtroubles; and she seemed to have no difficulty in putting the Beaufortdisaster out of her mind. But for the first time she became absorbedin her own symptoms, and began to take a sentimental interest incertain members of her family to whom she had hitherto beencontemptuously 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 forcefulcharacter and marked intellectual ability (if he had only "chosen") hadbeen met with a derisive chuckle. But his eminence as a valetudinariannow made him an object of engrossing interest, and Mrs. Mingott issuedan imperial summons to him to come and compare diets as soon as histemperature permitted; for old Catherine was now the first to recognisethat one could not be too careful about temperatures.

  Twenty-four hours after Madame Olenska's summons a telegram announcedthat she would arrive from Washington on the evening of the followingday. At the Wellands', where the Newland Archers chanced to belunching, the question as to who should meet her at Jersey City wasimmediately raised; and the material difficulties amid which theWelland household struggled as if it had been a frontier outpost, lentanimation to the debate. It was agreed that Mrs. Welland could notpossibly go to Jersey City because she was to accompany her husband toold Catherine's that afternoon, and the brougham could not be spared,since, if Mr. Welland were "upset" by seeing his mother-in-law for thefirst time after her attack, he might have to be taken home at amoment's notice. The Welland sons would of course be "down town," Mr.Lovell Mingott would be just hurrying back from his shooting, and theMingott carriage engaged in meeting him; and one could not ask May, atthe close of a winter afternoon, to go alone across the ferry to JerseyCity, even in her own carriage. Nevertheless, it might appearinhospitable--and contrary to old Catherine's express wishes--if MadameOlenska were allowed to arrive without any of the family being at thestation to receive her. It was just like Ellen, Mrs. Welland's tiredvoice implied, to place the family in such a dilemma. "It's always onething after another," the poor lady grieved, in one of her rare revoltsagainst fate; "the only thing that makes me think Mamma must be lesswell than Dr. Bencomb will admit is this morbid desire to have Ellencome at once, however inconvenient it is to meet her."

  The words had been thoughtless, as the utterances of impatience oftenare; and Mr. Welland was upon them with a pounce.

  "Augusta," he said, turning pale and laying down his fork, "have youany other reason for thinking that Bencomb is less to be relied on thanhe was? Have you noticed that he has been less conscientious thanusual in following up my case or your mother's?"

  It was Mrs. Welland's turn to grow pale as the endless consequences ofher 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, howcould you imagine such a thing? I only meant that, after the decidedstand Mamma took about its being Ellen's duty to go back to herhusband, it seems strange that she should be seized with this suddenwhim to see her, when there are half a dozen other grandchildren thatshe might have asked for. But we must never forget that Mamma, inspite of her wonderful vitality, is a very old woman."

  Mr. Welland
's brow remained clouded, and it was evident that hisperturbed 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 beas successful with very old people. As you say, my dear, it's alwaysone thing after another; and in another ten or fifteen years I supposeI shall have the pleasing duty of looking about for a new doctor. It'salways better to make such a change before it's absolutely necessary."And having arrived at this Spartan decision Mr. Welland firmly took uphis fork.

  "But all the while," Mrs. Welland began again, as she rose from theluncheon-table, and led the way into the wilderness of purple satin andmalachite known as the back drawing-room, "I don't see how Ellen's tobe got here tomorrow evening; and I do like to have things settled forat least twenty-four hours ahead."

  Archer turned from the fascinated contemplation of a small paintingrepresenting two Cardinals carousing, in an octagonal ebony frame setwith medallions of onyx.

  "Shall I fetch her?" he proposed. "I can easily get away from theoffice in time to meet the brougham at the ferry, if May will send itthere." His heart was beating excitedly as he spoke.

  Mrs. Welland heaved a sigh of gratitude, and May, who had moved away tothe window, turned to shed on him a beam of approval. "So you see,Mamma, everything WILL be settled twenty-four hours in advance," shesaid, stooping over to kiss her mother's troubled forehead.

  May's brougham awaited her at the door, and she was to drive Archer toUnion Square, where he could pick up a Broadway car to carry him to theoffice. As she settled herself in her corner she said: "I didn't wantto worry Mamma by raising fresh obstacles; but how can you meet Ellentomorrow, and bring her back to New York, when you're going toWashington?"

  "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. Letterblairto Mamma saying that he was going to Washington tomorrow for the bigpatent case that he was to argue before the Supreme Court. You said itwas a patent case, didn't you?"

  "Well--that's it: the whole office can't go. Letterblair decided to gothis morning."

  "Then it's NOT postponed?" she continued, with an insistence so unlikeher that he felt the blood rising to his face, as if he were blushingfor her unwonted lapse from all the traditional delicacies.

  "No: but my going is," he answered, cursing the unnecessaryexplanations that he had given when he had announced his intention ofgoing to Washington, and wondering where he had read that clever liarsgive details, but that the cleverest do not. It did not hurt him halfas much to tell May an untruth as to see her trying to pretend that shehad not detected him.

  "I'm not going till later on: luckily for the convenience of yourfamily," he continued, taking base refuge in sarcasm. As he spoke hefelt that she was looking at him, and he turned his eyes to hers inorder not to appear to be avoiding them. Their glances met for asecond, and perhaps let them into each other's meanings more deeplythan either cared to go.

  "Yes; it IS awfully convenient," May brightly agreed, "that you shouldbe able to meet Ellen after all; you saw how much Mamma appreciatedyour offering to do it."

  "Oh, I'm delighted to do it." The carriage stopped, and as he jumpedout 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 shoneon 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 toold Catherine's. It's all of two hours--and it may be more."