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СКАЧАТЬ the unnatural appearance peculiar to well-kept houses suddenly invaded by illness: wraps and furs lay in heaps on the chairs, a doctor’s bag and overcoat were on the table, and beside them letters and cards had already piled up unheeded.

      May looked pale but smiling: Dr. Bencomb, who had just come for the second time, took a more hopeful view, and Mrs. Mingott’s dauntless determination to live and get well was already having an effect on her family. May led Archer into the old lady’s sitting-room, where the sliding doors opening into the bedroom had been drawn shut, and the heavy yellow damask portieres dropped over them; and here Mrs. Welland communicated to him in horrified undertones the details of the catastrophe. It appeared that the evening before something dreadful and mysterious had happened. At about eight o’clock, just after Mrs. Mingott had finished the game of solitaire that she always played after dinner, the doorbell had rung, and a lady so thickly veiled that the servants did not immediately recognise her had asked to be received.

      The butler, hearing a familiar voice, had thrown open the sitting-room door, announcing: “Mrs. Julius Beaufort”—and had then closed it again on the two ladies. They must have been together, he thought, about an hour. When Mrs. Mingott’s bell rang Mrs. Beaufort had already slipped away unseen, and the old lady, white and vast and terrible, sat alone in her great chair, and signed to the butler to help her into her room. She seemed, at that time, though obviously distressed, in complete control of her body and brain. The mulatto maid put her to bed, brought her a cup of tea as usual, laid everything straight in the room, and went away; but at three in the morning the bell rang again, and the two servants, hastening in at this unwonted summons (for old Catherine usually slept like a baby), had found their mistress sitting up against her pillows with a crooked smile on her face and one little hand hanging limp from its huge arm.

      The stroke had clearly been a slight one, for she was able to articulate and to make her wishes known; and soon after the doctor’s first visit she had begun to regain control of her facial muscles. But the alarm had been great; and proportionately great was the indignation when it was gathered from Mrs. Mingott’s fragmentary phrases that Regina Beaufort had come to ask her—incredible effrontery!—to back up her husband, see them through—not to “desert” them, as she called it—in fact to induce the whole family to cover and condone their monstrous dishonour.

      “I said to her: “Honour’s always been honour, and honesty honesty, in Manson Mingott’s house, and will be till I’m carried out of it feet first,’” the old woman had stammered into her daughter’s ear, in the thick voice of the partly paralysed. “And when she said: `But my name, Auntie—my name’s Regina Dallas,’ I said: `It was Beaufort when he covered you with jewels, and it’s got to stay Beaufort now that he’s covered you with shame.’”

      So much, with tears and gasps of horror, Mrs. Welland imparted, blanched and demolished by the unwonted obligation of having at last to fix her eyes on the unpleasant and the discreditable. “If only I could keep it from your father-in-law: he always says: `Augusta, for pity’s sake, don’t destroy my last illusions’ —and how am I to prevent his knowing these horrors?” the poor lady wailed.

      “After all, Mamma, he won’t have SEEN them,” her daughter suggested; and Mrs. Welland sighed: “Ah, no; thank heaven he’s safe in bed. And Dr. Bencomb has promised to keep him there till poor Mamma is better, and Regina has been got away somewhere.”

      Archer had seated himself near the window and was gazing out blankly at the deserted thoroughfare. It was evident that he had been summoned rather for the moral support of the stricken ladies than because of any specific aid that he could render. Mr. Lovell Mingott had been telegraphed for, and messages were being despatched by hand to the members of the family living in New York; and meanwhile there was nothing to do but to discuss in hushed tones the consequences of Beaufort’s dishonour and of his wife’s unjustifiable action.

      Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who had been in another room writing notes, presently reappeared, and added her voice to the discussion. In THEIR day, the elder ladies agreed, the wife of a man who had done anything disgraceful in business had only one idea: to efface herself, to disappear with him. “There was the case of poor Grandmamma Spicer; your great-grandmother, May. Of course,” Mrs. Welland hastened to add, “your great-grandfather’s money difficulties were private—losses at cards, or signing a note for somebody—I never quite knew, because Mamma would never speak of it. But she was brought up in the country because her mother had to leave New York after the disgrace, whatever it was: they lived up the Hudson alone, winter and summer, till Mamma was sixteen. It would never have occurred to Grandmamma Spicer to ask the family to `countenance’ her, as I understand Regina calls it; though a private disgrace is nothing compared to the scandal of ruining hundreds of innocent people.”

      “Yes, it would be more becoming in Regina to hide her own countenance than to talk about other people’s,” Mrs. Lovell Mingott agreed. “I understand that the emerald necklace she wore at the Opera last Friday had been sent on approval from Ball and Black’s in the afternoon. I wonder if they’ll ever get it back?”

      Archer listened unmoved to the relentless chorus. The idea of absolute financial probity as the first law of a gentleman’s code was too deeply ingrained in him for sentimental considerations to weaken it. An adventurer like Lemuel Struthers might build up the millions of his Shoe Polish on any number of shady dealings; but unblemished honesty was the noblesse oblige of old financial New York. Nor did Mrs. Beaufort’s fate greatly move Archer. He felt, no doubt, more sorry for her than her indignant relatives; but it seemed to him that the tie between husband and wife, even if breakable in prosperity, should be indissoluble in misfortune. As Mr. Letterblair had said, a wife’s place was at her husband’s side when he was in trouble; but society’s place was not at his side, and Mrs. Beaufort’s cool assumption that it was seemed almost to make her his accomplice. The mere idea of a woman’s appealing to her family to screen her husband’s business dishonour was inadmissible, since it was the one thing that the Family, as an institution, could not do.

      The mulatto maid called Mrs. Lovell Mingott into the hall, and the latter came back in a moment with a frowning brow.

      “She wants me to telegraph for Ellen Olenska. I had written to Ellen, of course, and to Medora; but now it seems that’s not enough. I’m to telegraph to her immediately, and to tell her that she’s to come alone.”

      The announcement was received in silence. Mrs. Welland sighed resignedly, and May rose from her seat and went to gather up some newspapers that had been scattered on the floor.

      “I suppose it must be done,” Mrs. Lovell Mingott continued, as if hoping to be contradicted; and May turned back toward the middle of the room.

      “Of course it must be done,” she said. “Granny knows what she wants, and we must carry out all her wishes. Shall I write the telegram for you, Auntie? If it goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrow morning’s train.” She pronounced the syllables of the name with a peculiar clearness, as if she had tapped on two silver bells.

      “Well, it can’t go at once. Jasper and the pantry-boy are both out with notes and telegrams.”

      May turned to her husband with a smile. “But here’s Newland, ready to do anything. Will you take the telegram, Newland? There’ll be just time before luncheon.”

      Archer rose with a murmur of readiness, and she seated herself at old Catherine’s rosewood “Bonheur du Jour,” and wrote out the message in her large immature hand. When it was written she blotted it neatly and handed it to Archer.

      “What a pity,” she said, “that you and Ellen will cross each other on the way!—Newland,” she added, turning to her mother and aunt, “is obliged to go to Washington about a patent law-suit that is coming up before the Supreme Court. I suppose Uncle Lovell will СКАЧАТЬ