The Age of Innocence

VIII.

It was generally agreed in New York that the Countess Olenska had ”losther looks.”

She had appeared there first, in Newland Archer's boyhood, as abrilliantly pretty little girl of nine or ten, of whom people said thatshe ”ought to be painted.” Her parents had been continental wanderers,and after a roaming babyhood she had lost them both, and been taken incharge by her aunt, Medora Manson, also a wanderer, who was herselfreturning 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 newhusband or an adopted child; but after a few months she invariablyparted from her husband or quarrelled with her ward, and, having gotrid of her house at a loss, set out again on her wanderings. As hermother had been a Rushworth, and her last unhappy marriage had linkedher to one of the crazy Chiverses, New York looked indulgently on hereccentricities; but when she returned with her little orphaned niece,whose parents had been popular in spite of their regrettable taste fortravel, people thought it a pity that the pretty child should be insuch hands.

Every one was disposed to be kind to little Ellen Mingott, though herdusky red cheeks and tight curls gave her an air of gaiety that seemedunsuitable in a child who should still have been in black for herparents. It was one of the misguided Medora's many peculiarities toflout the unalterable rules that regulated American mourning, and whenshe stepped from the steamer her family were scandalised to see thatthe crape veil she wore for her own brother was seven inches shorterthan those of her sisters-in-law, while little Ellen was in crimsonmerino and amber beads, like a gipsy foundling.

But New York had so long resigned itself to Medora that only a few oldladies shook their heads over Ellen's gaudy clothes, while her otherrelations fell under the charm of her high colour and high spirits.She was a fearless and familiar little thing, who asked disconcertingquestions, made precocious comments, and possessed outlandish arts,such as dancing a Spanish shawl dance and singing Neapolitan love-songsto a guitar. Under the direction of her aunt (whose real name was Mrs.Thorley Chivers, but who, having received a Papal title, had resumedher first husband's patronymic, and called herself the MarchionessManson, because in Italy she could turn it into Manzoni) the littlegirl received an expensive but incoherent education, which included”drawing from the model,” a thing never dreamed of before, and playingthe piano in quintets with professional musicians.

Of course no good could come of this; and when, a few years later, poorChivers finally died in a madhouse, his widow (draped in strange weeds)again pulled up stakes and departed with Ellen, who had grown into atall bony girl with conspicuous eyes. For some time no more was heardof them; then news came of Ellen's marriage to an immensely rich Polishnobleman of legendary fame, whom she had met at a ball at theTuileries, and who was said to have princely establishments in Paris,Nice and Florence, a yacht at Cowes, and many square miles of shootingin 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 smallerhouse, people wondered that her rich niece had not been able to dosomething for her. Then came the news that Ellen's own marriage hadended in disaster, and that she was herself returning home to seek restand oblivion among her kinsfolk.

These things passed through Newland Archer's mind a week later as hewatched the Countess Olenska enter the van der Luyden drawing-room onthe evening of the momentous dinner. The occasion was a solemn one,and he wondered a little nervously how she would carry it off. Shecame rather late, one hand still ungloved, and fastening a braceletabout her wrist; yet she entered without any appearance of haste orembarrassment the drawing-room in which New York's most chosen companywas somewhat awfully assembled.

In the middle of the room she paused, looking about her with a gravemouth and smiling eyes; and in that instant Newland Archer rejected thegeneral verdict on her looks. It was true that her early radiance wasgone. The red cheeks had paled; she was thin, worn, a littleolder-looking than her age, which must have been nearly thirty. Butthere was about her the mysterious authority of beauty, a sureness inthe carriage of the head, the movement of the eyes, which, withoutbeing in the least theatrical, struck his as highly trained and full ofa conscious power. At the same time she was simpler in manner thanmost of the ladies present, and many people (as he heard afterward fromJaney) 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 thetones of her low-pitched voice. New York had expected something a gooddeal more reasonant in a young woman with such a history.

The dinner was a somewhat formidable business. Dining with the van derLuydens was at best no light matter, and dining there with a Duke whowas their cousin was almost a religious solemnity. It pleased Archerto think that only an old New Yorker could perceive the shade ofdifference (to New York) between being merely a Duke and being the vander Luydens' Duke. New York took stray noblemen calmly, and even(except in the Struthers set) with a certain distrustful hauteur; butwhen they presented such credentials as these they were received withan old-fashioned cordiality that they would have been greatly mistakenin ascribing solely to their standing in Debrett. It was for just suchdistinctions that the young man cherished his old New York even whilehe smiled at it.

The van der Luydens had done their best to emphasise the importance ofthe occasion. The du Lac Sevres and the Trevenna George II plate wereout; so was the van der Luyden ”Lowestoft” (East India Company) and theDagonet Crown Derby. Mrs. van der Luyden looked more than ever like aCabanel, and Mrs. Archer, in her grandmother's seed-pearls andemeralds, reminded her son of an Isabey miniature. All the ladies hadon their handsomest jewels, but it was characteristic of the house andthe occasion that these were mostly in rather heavy old-fashionedsettings; 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, asArcher scanned the smooth plump elderly faces between their diamondnecklaces and towering ostrich feathers, they struck him as curiouslyimmature compared with hers. It frightened him to think what must havegone to the making of her eyes.

The Duke of St. Austrey, who sat at his hostess's right, was naturallythe chief figure of the evening. But if the Countess Olenska was lessconspicuous than had been hoped, the Duke was almost invisible. Beinga well-bred man he had not (like another recent ducal visitor) come tothe dinner in a shooting-jacket; but his evening clothes were so shabbyand baggy, and he wore them with such an air of their being homespun,that (with his stooping way of sitting, and the vast beard spreadingover his shirt-front) he hardly gave the appearance of being in dinnerattire. He was short, round-shouldered, sunburnt, with a thick nose,small eyes and a sociable smile; but he seldom spoke, and when he didit was in such low tones that, despite the frequent silences ofexpectation about the table, his remarks were lost to all but hisneighbours.

When the men joined the ladies after dinner the Duke went straight upto the Countess Olenska, and they sat down in a corner and plunged intoanimated talk. Neither seemed aware that the Duke should first havepaid his respects to Mrs. Lovell Mingott and Mrs. Headly Chivers, andthe Countess have conversed with that amiable hypochondriac, Mr. UrbanDagonet of Washington Square, who, in order to have the pleasure ofmeeting her, had broken through his fixed rule of not dining outbetween January and April. The two chatted together for nearly twentyminutes; then the Countess rose and, walking alone across the widedrawing-room, sat down at Newland Archer's side.

It was not the custom in New York drawing-rooms for a lady to get upand walk away from one gentleman in order to seek the company ofanother. Etiquette required that she should wait, immovable as anidol, while the men who wished to converse with her succeeded eachother at her side. But the Countess was apparently unaware of havingbroken any rule; she sat at perfect ease in a corner of the sofa besideArcher, 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 ofgambling--he used to come to the house a great deal.” She said it inthe 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 Iever met.”

This pleased her companion so much that he forgot the slight shock herprevious remark had caused him. It was undeniably exciting to meet alady who found the van der Luydens' Duke dull, and dared to utter theopinion. He longed to question her, to hear more about the life ofwhich her careless words had given him so illuminating a glimpse; buthe feared to touch on distressing memories, and before he could thinkof 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 andso 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 shadeof 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 notin the least arranged for you?”

Archer looked at her incredulously. ”Have you forgotten,” he askedwith a smile, ”that in our country we don't allow our marriages to bearranged 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 Isometimes make these mistakes. I don't always remember that everythinghere is good that was--that was bad where I've come from.” She lookeddown at her Viennese fan of eagle feathers, and he saw that her lipstrembled.

”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 camehome. I want to forget everything else, to become a complete Americanagain, like the Mingotts and Wellands, and you and your delightfulmother, and all the other good people here tonight. Ah, here's Mayarriving, and you will want to hurry away to her,” she added, butwithout moving; and her eyes turned back from the door to rest on theyoung 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 enteringwith her mother. In her dress of white and silver, with a wreath ofsilver blossoms in her hair, the tall girl looked like a Diana justalight from the chase.

”Oh,” said Archer, ”I have so many rivals; you see she's alreadysurrounded. 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 whathe said; but just then Mr. van der Luyden came up, followed by old Mr.Urban Dagonet. The Countess greeted them with her grave smile, andArcher, feeling his host's admonitory glance on him, rose andsurrendered 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 thenturned back to make room for Mr. Dagonet.

”Tomorrow--” Archer heard himself repeating, though there had been noengagement, and during their talk she had given him no hint that shewished 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: ”ButI think we used to go to dancing-school together when we werechildren--.” Behind her, waiting their turn to name themselves to theCountess, Archer noticed a number of the recalcitrant couples who haddeclined to meet her at Mrs. Lovell Mingott's. As Mrs. Archerremarked: when the van der Luydens chose, they knew how to give alesson. The wonder was that they chose so seldom.

The young man felt a touch on his arm and saw Mrs. van der Luydenlooking down on him from the pure eminence of black velvet and thefamily diamonds. ”It was good of you, dear Newland, to devote yourselfso unselfishly to Madame Olenska. I told your cousin Henry he mustreally come to the rescue.”

He was aware of smiling at her vaguely, and she added, as ifcondescending to his natural shyness: ”I've never seen May lookinglovelier. The Duke thinks her the handsomest girl in the room.”