Part 5 (1/2)
”The LEFFERTSES!--” said Mrs. van der Luyden.
”The LEFFERTSES!--” echoed Mrs. Archer. ”What would uncle Egmont have said of Lawrence Lefferts's p.r.o.nouncing on anybody's social position?
It shows what Society has come to.”
”We'll hope it has not quite come to that,” said Mr. van der Luyden firmly.
”Ah, if only you and Louisa went out more!” sighed Mrs. Archer.
But instantly she became aware of her mistake. The van der Luydens were morbidly sensitive to any criticism of their secluded existence.
They were the arbiters of fas.h.i.+on, the Court of last Appeal, and they knew it, and bowed to their fate. But being shy and retiring persons, with no natural inclination for their part, they lived as much as possible in the sylvan solitude of Skuytercliff, and when they came to town, declined all invitations on the plea of Mrs. van der Luyden's health.
Newland Archer came to his mother's rescue. ”Everybody in New York knows what you and cousin Louisa represent. That's why Mrs. Mingott felt she ought not to allow this slight on Countess Olenska to pa.s.s without consulting you.”
Mrs. van der Luyden glanced at her husband, who glanced back at her.
”It is the principle that I dislike,” said Mr. van der Luyden. ”As long as a member of a well-known family is backed up by that family it should be considered--final.”
”It seems so to me,” said his wife, as if she were producing a new thought.
”I had no idea,” Mr. van der Luyden continued, ”that things had come to such a pa.s.s.” He paused, and looked at his wife again. ”It occurs to me, my dear, that the Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation--through Medora Manson's first husband. At any rate, she will be when Newland marries.” He turned toward the young man. ”Have you read this morning's Times, Newland?”
”Why, yes, sir,” said Archer, who usually tossed off half a dozen papers with his morning coffee.
Husband and wife looked at each other again. Their pale eyes clung together in prolonged and serious consultation; then a faint smile fluttered over Mrs. van der Luyden's face. She had evidently guessed and approved.
Mr. van der Luyden turned to Mrs. Archer. ”If Louisa's health allowed her to dine out--I wish you would say to Mrs. Lovell Mingott--she and I would have been happy to--er--fill the places of the Lawrence Leffertses at her dinner.” He paused to let the irony of this sink in.
”As you know, this is impossible.” Mrs. Archer sounded a sympathetic a.s.sent. ”But Newland tells me he has read this morning's Times; therefore he has probably seen that Louisa's relative, the Duke of St.
Austrey, arrives next week on the Russia. He is coming to enter his new sloop, the Guinevere, in next summer's International Cup Race; and also to have a little canvasback shooting at Trevenna.” Mr. van der Luyden paused again, and continued with increasing benevolence: ”Before taking him down to Maryland we are inviting a few friends to meet him here--only a little dinner--with a reception afterward. I am sure Louisa will be as glad as I am if Countess Olenska will let us include her among our guests.” He got up, bent his long body with a stiff friendliness toward his cousin, and added: ”I think I have Louisa's authority for saying that she will herself leave the invitation to dine when she drives out presently: with our cards--of course with our cards.”
Mrs. Archer, who knew this to be a hint that the seventeen-hand chestnuts which were never kept waiting were at the door, rose with a hurried murmur of thanks. Mrs. van der Luyden beamed on her with the smile of Esther interceding with Ahasuerus; but her husband raised a protesting hand.
”There is nothing to thank me for, dear Adeline; nothing whatever.
This kind of thing must not happen in New York; it shall not, as long as I can help it,” he p.r.o.nounced with sovereign gentleness as he steered his cousins to the door.
Two hours later, every one knew that the great C-spring barouche in which Mrs. van der Luyden took the air at all seasons had been seen at old Mrs. Mingott's door, where a large square envelope was handed in; and that evening at the Opera Mr. Sillerton Jackson was able to state that the envelope contained a card inviting the Countess Olenska to the dinner which the van der Luydens were giving the following week for their cousin, the Duke of St. Austrey.
Some of the younger men in the club box exchanged a smile at this announcement, and glanced sideways at Lawrence Lefferts, who sat carelessly in the front of the box, pulling his long fair moustache, and who remarked with authority, as the soprano paused: ”No one but Patti ought to attempt the Sonnambula.”
VIII.
It was generally agreed in New York that the Countess Olenska had ”lost her looks.”
She had appeared there first, in Newland Archer's boyhood, as a brilliantly pretty little girl of nine or ten, of whom people said that she ”ought to be painted.” Her parents had been continental wanderers, and after a roaming babyhood she had lost them both, and been taken in charge by her aunt, Medora Manson, also a wanderer, who was herself returning to New York to ”settle down.”
Poor Medora, repeatedly widowed, was always coming home to settle down (each time in a less expensive house), and bringing with her a new husband or an adopted child; but after a few months she invariably parted from her husband or quarrelled with her ward, and, having got rid of her house at a loss, set out again on her wanderings. As her mother had been a Rushworth, and her last unhappy marriage had linked her to one of the crazy Chiverses, New York looked indulgently on her eccentricities; but when she returned with her little orphaned niece, whose parents had been popular in spite of their regrettable taste for travel, people thought it a pity that the pretty child should be in such hands.
Every one was disposed to be kind to little Ellen Mingott, though her dusky red cheeks and tight curls gave her an air of gaiety that seemed unsuitable in a child who should still have been in black for her parents. It was one of the misguided Medora's many peculiarities to flout the unalterable rules that regulated American mourning, and when she stepped from the steamer her family were scandalised to see that the c.r.a.pe veil she wore for her own brother was seven inches shorter than those of her sisters-in-law, while little Ellen was in crimson merino and amber beads, like a gipsy foundling.