第 14 页

“唔——这种事在其他地方也有，可地球还不是照转不误！”

“我想，亲爱的，你不是当真在为法国的星期天辩护吧？”

“妈妈，我们在伦敦的时候，我可是常听你抱怨英国的星期天呢。”

“纽约既不是巴黎，也不是伦敦。”

“噢，对，不是！”儿子哼着说。

“我想，你的意思是这里的社交界不够出色？我敢说，你说得很对；但我们属于这里。有人来到我们中间就应该尊重我们的生活方式，尤其是埃伦•奥兰斯卡：她来这儿不就是为了摆脱在出色的社交界过的那种生活嘛。”

纽兰没有回答。过了一会儿，她母亲又试探地说：“我刚才正要戴上帽子，让你带我在晚饭前去见一见路易莎。”他皱起了眉头，她接着说：“我以为你可以向她解释一下你刚刚说过的话：国外的社交界有所不同……人们并不那么计较。还有，奥兰斯卡夫人可能没想到我们对这种事情的态度。你知道，亲爱的，”她故作天真地巧言补充说：“如果你这么做，对奥兰斯卡夫人是很有好处的。”

“亲爱的妈妈，我真不明白，我们与这件事有什么相干。是公爵带奥兰斯卡夫人到斯特拉瑟斯太太家去的——实际上是他先带了斯特拉瑟斯太太去拜访了她。他们去的时候我在那儿。假如范德卢顿夫妇想跟谁吵架，真正的教唆犯就在他们自己家。”

“吵架？纽兰，你听说过，亨利表兄吵过架吗？而且，公爵是他的客人，又是个外国人，外国人不见怪，他们怎么会吵架呢？奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人是个纽约人，她倒是应该尊重纽约人的感情的。”

“嗯，如果他们一定要找一个牺牲品，那我同意你把奥兰斯卡夫人交给他们，”儿子恼怒地喊道。“我是不会——你也未必会——自动替她抵罪的。”

“你当然只会为明戈特一方考虑了，”母亲回答说，她语气很敏感，眼看就要发怒了。

脸色阴郁的管家拉起了客厅的门帘，通报说：“亨利•范德卢顿先生到。”

阿切尔太太扔下手中的针，用颤抖的手把椅子向后推了推。

“再点一盏灯，”她向退出去的仆人喊道，詹尼这时正低头抚平母亲的便帽。

范德卢顿先生的身影出现在门口，纽兰•阿切尔走上前去欢迎这位表亲。

“我们正在谈论你呢，大人，’他说。

范德卢顿先生听了这一消息似乎深受感动，他脱掉手套去跟女士们握手，然后小心地抚平他的高礼帽，这时詹尼将一把扶手椅推到前边，阿切尔则接着说：“还说到奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人。”

阿切尔太太脸色煞白。

“啊——一个迷人的女子。我刚去看过她，”范德卢顿先生说，得意的神情又回到他的脸上。他坐到椅子上，按老习惯把礼帽和手套放在身旁的地板上，接着说： “她布置鲜花可真有天才，我给她送去一点斯库特克利夫的石竹花。让我吃了一惊的是，她不是像园丁那样把它们集成一束一束的，而是随意地把它们散开，这儿一些，那儿一些……我不知道她怎么那么灵巧。公爵事前告诉过我，他说：‘去瞧瞧她布置客厅有多巧吧。’确实不错。我本想带路易莎去看她来着，若不是周围环境那样——不愉快。”

迎接范德卢顿先生非同寻常的滔滔话语的是一阵死寂。阿切尔太太从篮子里抽出她刚才紧张地塞在里面的刺绣，阿切尔倚在壁炉边，拧着手中的蜂鸟羽毛帘子，他看见詹尼目瞪口呆的表情被送来的第二盏灯照得一清二楚。

“事实上，”范德卢顿先生接着说，一面用一只没有血色的手抚摩着他那长长的灰靴筒，手上戴着那枚硕大的庄园主图章戒指。“事实上，我的顺访是为了感谢她为那些花而写的非常漂亮的回函；还想——这一点可别向外传——向她提出友好的警告，叫她别让公爵随便带着去参加聚会。我不知你们是否听到了——”

阿切尔太太脸上露出宽容的微笑。“公爵是诱使她参加聚会了吗？”

“你知道这些英国显贵的德性，他们全都一样。路易莎和我很喜欢我们这位表亲——不过指望习惯了欧洲宅邸的人劳神去留心我们共和主义的小小差别，那是绝对办不到的。哪里能寻开心，公爵就到哪里去。”范德卢顿停顿一下，但没有人吭声。“是的——看来昨晚是他带她到莱姆尔•斯特拉瑟斯太太家去的。西勒顿•杰克逊刚才到我们家去过，讲了这件荒唐事。路易莎很不安。所以我想最好的捷径就是直接去找奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人，并向她说明——仅仅是暗示，你知道——在纽约我们对某些事情的看法。我觉得我可以做到这一点，而且不会有什么不得体，因为她同我们一起进晚餐的那天晚上，她好像说过——让我想想看——她会感激对她的指导，而她的确如此。”

范德卢顿先生四面看了看，那神态若是出现在普通的庸俗之辈的脸上，满可以称得上是一种自鸣得意。但在他的脸上，却是一种淡淡的仁慈；阿切尔太太一见，马上义不容辞地露出了同样的表情。

“你们俩真是太仁慈了，亲爱的亨利——而且是一贯如此呀！你对梅和他的新亲戚的关照，纽兰会分外感激的。”

她向儿子投去敦促的目光。儿子说：“感激不尽，大人。不过我早知道你会喜欢奥兰斯卡夫人的。”

范德卢顿先生极有风度地看着他说：“亲爱的纽兰，我从来不请任何我不喜欢的人到我家作客。我刚才也对西勒顿•杰克逊这样讲过。”他瞥了一眼时钟站了起来，接着说：“路易莎要等我了。我们准备早点儿吃饭，带公爵去听歌剧。”

门帘在客人身后庄严地合拢之后，一片沉寂降临在阿切尔的家人之中。

“真高雅——太浪漫了！”詹尼终于爆发似地说。谁都不明白什么事激发了她这简洁的评论，她的亲人早已放弃了解释这种评论的企图。

阿切尔太太叹口气摇了摇头。“但愿结果是皆大欢喜，”她说，那口气却明知绝对不可能。“纽兰，你一定要待在家里，等晚上西勒顿•杰克逊先生来的时候见见他，我真的不知该对他说些什么。”

“可怜的妈妈！可是他不会来了——”儿子笑着说，一面弯身吻开她的愁眉。

Chapter 11

Some two weeks later, Newland Archer, sitting in abstracted idleness in his private compartment of the office of Letterblair, Lamson and Low, attorneys at law, was summoned by the head of the firm.

Old Mr. Letterblair, the accredited legal adviser of three generations of New York gentility, throned behind his mahogany desk in evident perplexity. As he stroked his closeclipped white whiskers and ran his hand through the rumpled grey locks above his jutting brows, his disrespectful junior partner thought how much he looked like the Family Physician annoyed with a patient whose symptoms refuse to be classified.

"My dear sir--" he always addressed Archer as "sir"--"I have sent for you to go into a little matter; a matter which, for the moment, I prefer not to mention either to Mr. Skipworth or Mr. Redwood." The gentlemen he spoke of were the other senior partners of the firm; for, as was always the case with legal associations of old standing in New York, all the partners named on the office letter-head were long since dead; and Mr. Letterblair, for example, was, professionally speaking, his own grandson.

He leaned back in his chair with a furrowed brow. "For family reasons--" he continued.

Archer looked up.

"The Mingott family," said Mr. Letterblair with an explanatory smile and bow. "Mrs. Manson Mingott sent for me yesterday. Her grand-daughter the Countess Olenska wishes to sue her husband for divorce. Certain papers have been placed in my hands." He paused and drummed on his desk. "In view of your prospective alliance with the family I should like to consult you--to consider the case with you--before taking any farther steps."

Archer felt the blood in his temples. He had seen the Countess Olenska only once since his visit to her, and then at the Opera, in the Mingott box. During this interval she had become a less vivid and importunate image, receding from his foreground as May Welland resumed her rightful place in it. He had not heard her divorce spoken of since Janey's first random allusion to it, and had dismissed the tale as unfounded gossip. Theoretically, the idea of divorce was almost as distasteful to him as to his mother; and he was annoyed that Mr. Letterblair (no doubt prompted by old Catherine Mingott) should be so evidently planning to draw him into the affair. After all, there were plenty of Mingott men for such jobs, and as yet he was not even a Mingott by marriage.

He waited for the senior partner to continue. Mr. Letterblair unlocked a drawer and drew out a packet. "If you will run your eye over these papers--"

Archer frowned. "I beg your pardon, sir; but just because of the prospective relationship, I should prefer your consulting Mr. Skipworth or Mr. Redwood."

Mr. Letterblair looked surprised and slightly offended. It was unusual for a junior to reject such an opening.

He bowed. "I respect your scruple, sir; but in this case I believe true delicacy requires you to do as I ask. Indeed, the suggestion is not mine but Mrs. Manson Mingott's and her son's. I have seen Lovell Mingott; and also Mr. Welland. They all named you."

Archer felt his temper rising. He had been somewhat languidly drifting with events for the last fortnight, and letting May's fair looks and radiant nature obliterate the rather importunate pressure of the Mingott claims. But this behest of old Mrs. Mingott's roused him to a sense of what the clan thought they had the right to exact from a prospective son-in-law; and he chafed at the role.

"Her uncles ought to deal with this," he said.

"They have. The matter has been gone into by the family. They are opposed to the Countess's idea; but she is firm, and insists on a legal opinion."

The young man was silent: he had not opened the packet in his hand.

"Does she want to marry again?"

"I believe it is suggested; but she denies it."

"Then--"

"Will you oblige me, Mr. Archer, by first looking through these papers? Afterward, when we have talked the case over, I will give you my opinion."

Archer withdrew reluctantly with the unwelcome documents. Since their last meeting he had half-unconsciously collaborated with events in ridding himself of the burden of Madame Olenska. His hour alone with her by the firelight had drawn them into a momentary intimacy on which the Duke of St. Austrey's intrusion with Mrs. Lemuel Struthers, and the Countess's joyous greeting of them, had rather providentially broken. Two days later Archer had assisted at the comedy of her reinstatement in the van der Luydens' favour, and had said to himself, with a touch of tartness, that a lady who knew how to thank all-powerful elderly gentlemen to such good purpose for a bunch of flowers did not need either the private consolations or the public championship of a young man of his small compass. To look at the matter in this light simplified his own case and surprisingly furbished up all the dim domestic virtues. He could not picture May Welland, in whatever conceivable emergency, hawking about her private difficulties and lavishing her confidences on strange men; and she had never seemed to him finer or fairer than in the week that followed. He had even yielded to her wish for a long engagement, since she had found the one disarming answer to his plea for haste.

"You know, when it comes to the point, your parents have always let you have your way ever since you were a little girl," he argued; and she had answered, with her clearest look: "Yes; and that's what makes it so hard to refuse the very last thing they'll ever ask of me as a little girl."

That was the old New York note; that was the kind of answer he would like always to be sure of his wife's making. If one had habitually breathed the New York air there were times when anything less crystalline seemed stifling.

The papers he had retired to read did not tell him much in fact; but they plunged him into an atmosphere in which he choked and spluttered. They consisted mainly of an exchange of letters between Count Olenski's solicitors and a French legal firm to whom the Countess had applied for the settlement of her financial situation. There was also a short letter from the Count to his wife: after reading it, Newland Archer rose, jammed the papers back into their envelope, and reentered Mr. Letterblair's office.

"Here are the letters, sir. If you wish, I'll see Madame Olenska," he said in a constrained voice.

"Thank you--thank you, Mr. Archer. Come and dine with me tonight if you're free, and we'll go into the matter afterward: in case you wish to call on our client tomorrow."

Newland Archer walked straight home again that afternoon. It was a winter evening of transparent clearness, with an innocent young moon above the house- tops; and he wanted to fill his soul's lungs with the pure radiance, and not exchange a word with any one till he and Mr. Letterblair were closeted together after dinner. It was impossible to decide otherwise than he had done: he must see Madame Olenska himself rather than let her secrets be bared to other eyes. A great wave of compassion had swept away his indifference and impatience: she stood before him as an exposed and pitiful figure, to be saved at all costs from farther wounding herself in her mad plunges against fate.

He remembered what she had told him of Mrs. Welland's request to be spared whatever was "unpleasant" in her history, and winced at the thought that it was perhaps this attitude of mind which kept the New York air so pure. "Are we only Pharisees after all?" he wondered, puzzled by the effort to reconcile his instinctive disgust at human vileness with his equally instinctive pity for human frailty.

For the first time he perceived how elementary his own principles had always been. He passed for a young man who had not been afraid of risks, and he knew that his secret love-affair with poor silly Mrs. Thorley Rushworth had not been too secret to invest him with a becoming air of adventure. But Mrs. Rushworth was "that kind of woman"; foolish, vain, clandestine by nature, and far more attracted by the secrecy and peril of the affair than by such charms and qualities as he possessed. When the fact dawned on him it nearly broke his heart, but now it seemed the redeeming feature of the case. The affair, in short, had been of the kind that most of the young men of his age had been through, and emerged from with calm consciences and an undisturbed belief in the abysmal distinction between the women one loved and respected and those one enjoyed--and pitied. In this view they were sedulously abetted by their mothers, aunts and other elderly female relatives, who all shared Mrs. Archer's belief that when "such things happened" it was undoubtedly foolish of the man, but somehow always criminal of the woman. All the elderly ladies whom Archer knew regarded any woman who loved imprudently as necessarily unscrupulous and designing, and mere simple- minded man as powerless in her clutches. The only thing to do was to persuade him, as early as possible, to marry a nice girl, and then trust to her to look after him.

In the complicated old European communities, Archer began to guess, love-problems might be less simple and less easily classified. Rich and idle and ornamental societies must produce many more such situations; and there might even be one in which a woman naturally sensitive and aloof would yet, from the force of circumstances, from sheer defencelessness and loneliness, be drawn into a tie inexcusable by conventional standards.

On reaching home he wrote a line to the Countess Olenska, asking at what hour of the next day she could receive him, and despatched it by a messenger-boy, who returned presently with a word to the effect that she was going to Skuytercliff the next morning to stay over Sunday with the van der Luydens, but that he would find her alone that evening after dinner. The note was written on a rather untidy half-sheet, without date or address, but her hand was firm and free. He was amused at the idea of her week-ending in the stately solitude of Skuytercliff, but immediately afterward felt that there, of all places, she would most feel the chill of minds rigorously averted from the "unpleasant."

He was at Mr. Letterblair's punctually at seven, glad of the pretext for excusing himself soon after dinner. He had formed his own opinion from the papers entrusted to him, and did not especially want to go into the matter with his senior partner. Mr. Letterblair was a widower, and they dined alone, copiously and slowly, in a dark shabby room hung with yellowing prints of "The Death of Chatham" and "The Coronation of Napoleon." On the sideboard, between fluted Sheraton knife-cases, stood a decanter of Haut Brion, and another of the old Lanning port (the gift of a client), which the wastrel Tom Lanning had sold off a year or two before his mysterious and discreditable death in San Francisco--an incident less publicly humiliating to the family than the sale of the cellar.

After a velvety oyster soup came shad and cucumbers, then a young broiled turkey with corn fritters, followed by a canvas-back with currant jelly and a celery mayonnaise. Mr. Letterblair, who lunched on a sandwich and tea, dined deliberately and deeply, and insisted on his guest's doing the same. Finally, when the closing rites had been accomplished, the cloth was removed, cigars were lit, and Mr. Letterblair, leaning back in his chair and pushing the port westward, said, spreading his back agreeably to the coal fire behind him: "The whole family are against a divorce. And I think rightly."

Archer instantly felt himself on the other side of the argument. "But why, sir? If there ever was a case--"

"Well--what's the use? SHE'S here--he's there; the Atlantic's between them. She'll never get back a dollar more of her money than what he's voluntarily returned to her: their damned heathen marriage settlements take precious good care of that. As things go over there, Olenski's acted generously: he might have turned her out without a penny."

The young man knew this and was silent.

"I understand, though," Mr. Letterblair continued, "that she attaches no importance to the money. Therefore, as the family say, why not let well enough alone?"

Archer had gone to the house an hour earlier in full agreement with Mr. Letterblair's view; but put into words by this selfish, well-fed and supremely indifferent old man it suddenly became the Pharisaic voice of a society wholly absorbed in barricading itself against the unpleasant.