set forth their case, waited resignedly for the familiar phrase.
Mrs. van der Luyden, however, who had seldom surprised any one, now surprised them by reaching her long hand toward the bell-rope.
“I think,” she said, “I should like Henry to hear what you have told me.”
A footman appeared, to whom she gravely added: “If Mr. van der Luyden has finished reading the newspaper, please ask him to be kind enough to come.”
She said “reading the newspaper” in the tone in which a Minister’s wife might have said: “Presiding at a Cabinet meeting”—not from any arrogance of mind, but because the habit of a lifetime, and the attitude of her friends and relations, had led her to consider Mr. van der Luyden’s least gesture as having an almost sacerdotal importance.
Her promptness of action showed that she considered the case as pressing as Mrs. Archer; but, lest she should be thought to have committed herself in advance, she added, with the sweetest look: “Henry always enjoys seeing you, dear Adeline; and he will wish to congratulate Newland.”
The double doors had solemnly reopened and between them appeared Mr. Henry van der Luyden, tall, spare and frock-coated, with faded fair hair, a straight nose like his wife’s and the same look of frozen gentleness in eyes that were merely pale grey instead of pale blue.
Mr. van der Luyden greeted Mrs. Archer with cousinly affability, proffered to Newland low-voiced congratulations couched in the same language as his wife’s, and seated himself in one of the brocade armchairs with the simplicity of a reigning sovereign.
“I had just finished reading the Times,” he said, laying his long fingertips together. “In town my mornings are so much occupied that I find it more convenient to read the newspapers after luncheon.”
“Ah, there’s a great deal to be said for that plan— indeed I think my uncle Egmont used to say he found it less agitating not to read the morning papers till after dinner,” said Mrs. Archer responsively.
“Yes: my good father abhorred hurry. But now we live in a constant rush,” said Mr. van der Luyden in measured tones, looking with pleasant deliberation about the large shrouded room which to Archer was so complete an image of its owners.
“But I hope you HAD finished your reading, Henry?” his wife interposed.
“Quite—quite,” he reassured her.
“Then I should like Adeline to tell you—”
“Oh, it’s really Newland’s story,” said his mother smiling; and proceeded to rehearse once more the monstrous tale of the affront inflicted on Mrs. Lovell Mingott.
“Of course,” she ended, “Augusta Welland and Mary Mingott both felt that, especially in view of Newland’s engagement, you and Henry OUGHT TO KNOW.”
“Ah—” said Mr. van der Luyden, drawing a deep breath.
There was a silence during which the tick of the monumental ormolu clock on the white marble mantelpiece grew as loud as the boom of a minute-gun. Archer contemplated with awe the two slender faded figures, seated side by side in a kind of viceregal rigidity, mouthpieces of some remote ancestral authority which fate compelled them to wield, when they would so much rather have lived in simplicity and seclusion, digging invisible weeds out of the perfect lawns of Skuytercliff, and playing Patience together in the evenings.
Mr. van der Luyden was the first to speak.
“You really think this is due to some—some intentional interference of Lawrence Lefferts’s?” he enquired, turning to Archer.
“I’m certain of it, sir. Larry has been going it rather harder than usual lately—if cousin Louisa won’t mind my mentioning it—having rather a stiff affair with the postmaster’s wife in their village, or some one of that sort; and whenever poor Gertrude Lefferts begins to suspect anything, and he’s afraid of trouble, he gets up a fuss of this kind, to show how awfully moral he is, and talks at the top of his voice about the impertinence of inviting his wife to meet people he doesn’t wish her to know. He’s simply using Madame Olenska as a lightning-rod; I’ve seen him try the same thing often before.”
“The LEFFERTSES!—” said Mrs. van der Luyden.
“The LEFFERTSES!—” echoed Mrs. Archer. “What would uncle Egmont have said of Lawrence Lefferts’s pronouncing 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 fashion, 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 pass 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 pass.” 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 assent. “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