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

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СКАЧАТЬ you any other reason for thinking that Bencomb is less to be relied on than he was? Have you noticed that he has been less conscientious than usual in following up my case or your mother’s?”

      It was Mrs. Welland’s turn to grow pale as the endless consequences of her blunder unrolled themselves before her; but she managed to laugh, and take a second helping of scalloped oysters, before she said, struggling back into her old armour of cheerfulness: “My dear, how could you imagine such a thing? I only meant that, after the decided stand Mamma took about its being Ellen’s duty to go back to her husband, it seems strange that she should be seized with this sudden whim to see her, when there are half a dozen other grandchildren that she might have asked for. But we must never forget that Mamma, in spite of her wonderful vitality, is a very old woman.”

      Mr. Welland’s brow remained clouded, and it was evident that his perturbed imagination had fastened at once on this last remark. “Yes: your mother’s a very old woman; and for all we know Bencomb may not be as successful with very old people. As you say, my dear, it’s always one thing after another; and in another ten or fifteen years I suppose I shall have the pleasing duty of looking about for a new doctor. It’s always better to make such a change before it’s absolutely necessary.” And having arrived at this Spartan decision Mr. Welland firmly took up his fork.

      “But all the while,” Mrs. Welland began again, as she rose from the luncheon-table, and led the way into the wilderness of purple satin and malachite known as the back drawingroom, “I don’t see how Ellen’s to be got here tomorrow evening; and I do like to have things settled for at least twenty-four hours ahead.”

      Archer turned from the fascinated contemplation of a small painting representing two Cardinals carousing, in an octagonal ebony frame set with medallions of onyx.

      “Shall I fetch her?” he proposed. “I can easily get away from the office in time to meet the brougham at the ferry, if May will send it there.” His heart was beating excitedly as he spoke.

      Mrs. Welland heaved a sigh of gratitude, and May, who had moved away to the window, turned to shed on him a beam of approval. “So you see, Mamma, everything WILL be settled twenty-four hours in advance,” she said, stooping over to kiss her mother’s troubled forehead.

      May’s brougham awaited her at the door, and she was to drive Archer to Union Square, where he could pick up a Broadway car to carry him to the office. As she settled herself in her corner she said: “I didn’t want to worry Mamma by raising fresh obstacles; but how can you meet Ellen tomorrow, and bring her back to New York, when you’re going to Washington?”

      “Oh, I’m not going,” Archer answered.

      “Not going? Why, what’s happened?” Her voice was as clear as a bell, and full of wifely solicitude.

      “The case is off—postponed.”

      “Postponed? How odd! I saw a note this morning from Mr. Letterblair to Mamma saying that he was going to Washington tomorrow for the big patent case that he was to argue before the Supreme Court. You said it was a patent case, didn’t you?”

      “Well—that’s it: the whole office can’t go. Letterblair decided to go this morning.”

      “Then it’s NOT postponed?” she continued, with an insistence so unlike her that he felt the blood rising to his face, as if he were blushing for her unwonted lapse from all the traditional delicacies.

      “No: but my going is,” he answered, cursing the unnecessary explanations that he had given when he had announced his intention of going to Washington, and wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not. It did not hurt him half as much to tell May an untruth as to see her trying to pretend that she had not detected him.

      “I’m not going till later on: luckily for the convenience of your family,” he continued, taking base refuge in sarcasm. As he spoke he felt that she was looking at him, and he turned his eyes to hers in order not to appear to be avoiding them. Their glances met for a second, and perhaps let them into each other’s meanings more deeply than either cared to go.

      “Yes; it IS awfully convenient,” May brightly agreed, “that you should be able to meet Ellen after all; you saw how much Mamma appreciated your offering to do it.”

      “Oh, I’m delighted to do it.” The carriage stopped, and as he jumped out she leaned to him and laid her hand on his. “Goodbye, dearest,” she said, her eyes so blue that he wondered afterward if they had shone on him through tears.

      He turned away and hurried across Union Square, repeating to himself, in a sort of inward chant: “It’s all of two hours from Jersey City to old Catherine’s. It’s all of two hours—and it may be more.”

      XXIX.

      His wife’s dark blue brougham (with the wedding varnish still on it) met Archer at the ferry, and conveyed him luxuriously to the Pennsylvania terminus in Jersey City.

      It was a sombre snowy afternoon, and the gas-lamps were lit in the big reverberating station. As he paced the platform, waiting for the Washington express, he remembered that there were people who thought there would one day be a tunnel under the Hudson through which the trains of the Pennsylvania railway would run straight into New York. They were of the brotherhood of visionaries who likewise predicted the building of ships that would cross the Atlantic in five days, the invention of a flying machine, lighting by electricity, telephonic communication without wires, and other Arabian Night marvels.

      “I don’t care which of their visions comes true,” Archer mused, “as long as the tunnel isn’t built yet.” In his senseless schoolboy happiness he pictured Madame Olenska’s descent from the train, his discovery of her a long way off, among the throngs of meaningless faces, her clinging to his arm as he guided her to the carriage, their slow approach to the wharf among slipping horses, laden carts, vociferating teamsters, and then the startling quiet of the ferry-boat, where they would sit side by side under the snow, in the motionless carriage, while the earth seemed to glide away under them, rolling to the other side of the sun. It was incredible, the number of things he had to say to her, and in what eloquent order they were forming themselves on his lips …

      The clanging and groaning of the train came nearer, and it staggered slowly into the station like a prey-laden monster into its lair. Archer pushed forward, elbowing through the crowd, and staring blindly into window after window of the high-hung carriages. And then, suddenly, he saw Madame Olenska’s pale and surprised face close at hand, and had again the mortified sensation of having forgotten what she looked like.

      They reached each other, their hands met, and he drew her arm through his. “This way—I have the carriage,” he said.

      After that it all happened as he had dreamed. He helped her into the brougham with her bags, and had afterward the vague recollection of having properly reassured her about her grandmother and given her a summary of the Beaufort situation (he was struck by the softness of her: “Poor Regina!”). Meanwhile the carriage had worked its way out of the coil about the station, and they were crawling down the slippery incline to the wharf, menaced by swaying coal-carts, bewildered horses, dishevelled express-wagons, and an empty hearse—ah, that hearse! She shut her eyes as it passed, and clutched at Archer’s hand.

      “If only it doesn’t mean—poor Granny!”

      “Oh, no, no—she’s much better—she’s all right, really. There—we’ve passed it!” he exclaimed, as if that made all the difference. Her hand remained in his, and as the carriage lurched across СКАЧАТЬ