The Greatest Works of Edith Wharton - 31 Books in One Edition. Edith Wharton

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СКАЧАТЬ van der Luyden’s portrait by Huntington (in black velvet and Venetian point) faced that of her lovely ancestress. It was generally considered “as fine as a Cabanel,” and, though twenty years had elapsed since its execution, was still “a perfect likeness.” Indeed the Mrs. van der Luyden who sat beneath it listening to Mrs. Archer might have been the twin-sister of the fair and still youngish woman drooping against a gilt armchair before a green rep curtain. Mrs. van der Luyden still wore black velvet and Venetian point when she went into society—or rather (since she never dined out) when she threw open her own doors to receive it. Her fair hair, which had faded without turning grey, was still parted in flat overlapping points on her forehead, and the straight nose that divided her pale blue eyes was only a little more pinched about the nostrils than when the portrait had been painted. She always, indeed, struck Newland Archer as having been rather gruesomely preserved in the airless atmosphere of a perfectly irreproachable existence, as bodies caught in glaciers keep for years a rosy life-in-death.

      Like all his family, he esteemed and admired Mrs. van der Luyden; but he found her gentle bending sweetness less approachable than the grimness of some of his mother’s old aunts, fierce spinsters who said “No” on principle before they knew what they were going to be asked.

      Mrs. van der Luyden’s attitude said neither yes nor no, but always appeared to incline to clemency till her thin lips, wavering into the shadow of a smile, made the almost invariable reply: “I shall first have to talk this over with my husband.”

      She and Mr. van der Luyden were so exactly alike that Archer often wondered how, after forty years of the closest conjugality, two such merged identities ever separated themselves enough for anything as controversial as a talking-over. But as neither had ever reached a decision without prefacing it by this mysterious conclave, Mrs. Archer and her son, having 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 СКАЧАТЬ