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In
spite
of
odd
ways
they
were
said
to
be
,
for
the
most
part
,
quite
respectable
;
but
they
preferred
to
keep
to
themselves
.
Medora
Manson
,
in
her
prosperous
days
,
had
inaugurated
a
"
literary
salon
"
;
but
it
had
soon
died
out
owing
to
the
reluctance
of
the
literary
to
frequent
it.Others
had
made
the
same
attempt
,
and
there
was
a
household
of
Blenkers
--
an
intense
and
voluble
mother
,
and
three
blowsy
daughters
who
imitated
her
--
where
one
met
Edwin
Booth
and
Patti
and
William
Winter
,
and
the
new
Shakespearian
actor
George
Rignold
,
and
some
of
the
magazine
editors
and
musical
and
literary
critics.Mrs
.
Archer
and
her
group
felt
a
certain
timidity
concerning
these
persons
.
They
were
odd
,
they
were
uncertain
,
they
had
things
one
did
n't
know
about
in
the
background
of
their
lives
and
minds
.
Literature
and
art
were
deeply
respected
in
the
Archer
set
,
and
Mrs.
Archer
was
always
at
pains
to
tell
her
children
how
much
more
agreeable
and
cultivated
society
had
been
when
it
included
such
figures
as
Washington
Irving
,
Fitz-Greene
Halleck
and
the
poet
of
"
The
Culprit
Fay
.
"
The
most
celebrated
authors
of
that
generation
had
been
"
gentlemen
"
;
perhaps
the
unknown
persons
who
succeeded
them
had
gentlemanly
sentiments
,
but
their
origin
,
their
appearance
,
their
hair
,
their
intimacy
with
the
stage
and
the
Opera
,
made
any
old
New
York
criterion
inapplicable
to
them
.
"
When
I
was
a
girl
,
"
Mrs.
Archer
used
to
say
,
"
we
knew
everybody
between
the
Battery
and
Canal
Street
;
and
only
the
people
one
knew
had
carriages
.
It
was
perfectly
easy
to
place
any
one
then
;
now
one
ca
n't
tell
,
and
I
prefer
not
to
try
.
"
Only
old
Catherine
Mingott
,
with
her
absence
of
moral
prejudices
and
almost
parvenu
indifference
to
the
subtler
distinctions
,
might
have
bridged
the
abyss
;
but
she
had
never
opened
a
book
or
looked
at
a
picture
,
and
cared
for
music
only
because
it
reminded
her
of
gala
nights
at
the
Italiens
,
in
the
days
of
her
triumph
at
the
Tuileries
.
Possibly
Beaufort
,
who
was
her
match
in
daring
,
would
have
succeeded
in
bringing
about
a
fusion
;
but
his
grand
house
and
silk-stockinged
footmen
were
an
obstacle
to
informal
sociability
.
Moreover
,
he
was
as
illiterate
as
old
Mrs.
Mingott
,
and
considered
"
fellows
who
wrote
"
as
the
mere
paid
purveyors
of
rich
men
's
pleasures
;
and
no
one
rich
enough
to
influence
his
opinion
had
ever
questioned
it.Newland
Archer
had
been
aware
of
these
things
ever
since
he
could
remember
,
and
had
accepted
them
as
part
of
the
structure
of
his
universe
.
He
knew
that
there
were
societies
where
painters
and
poets
and
novelists
and
men
of
science
,
and
even
great
actors
,
were
as
sought
after
as
Dukes
;
he
had
often
pictured
to
himself
what
it
would
have
been
to
live
in
the
intimacy
of
drawing-rooms
dominated
by
the
talk
of
Merimee
(
whose
"
Lettres
a
une
Inconnue
"
was
one
of
his
inseparables
)
,
of
Thackeray
,
Browning
or
William
Morris
.
But
such
things
were
inconceivable
in
New
York
,
and
unsettling
to
think
of
.
Archer
knew
most
of
the
"
fellows
who
wrote
,
"
the
musicians
and
the
painters
:
he
met
them
at
the
Century
,
or
at
the
little
musical
and
theatrical
clubs
that
were
beginning
to
come
into
existence
.
He
enjoyed
them
there
,
and
was
bored
with
them
at
the
Blenkers
'
,
where
they
were
mingled
with
fervid
and
dowdy
women
who
passed
them
about
like
captured
curiosities
;
and
even
after
his
most
exciting
talks
with
Ned
Winsett
he
always
came
away
with
the
feeling
that
if
his
world
was
small
,
so
was
theirs
,
and
that
the
only
way
to
enlarge
either
was
to
reach
a
stage
of
manners
where
they
would
naturally
merge.He
was
reminded
of
this
by
trying
to
picture
the
society
in
which
the
Countess
Olenska
had
lived
and
suffered
,
and
also
--
perhaps
--
tasted
mysterious
joys
.
He
remembered
with
what
amusement
she
had
told
him
that
her
grandmother
Mingott
and
the
Wellands
objected
to
her
living
in
a
"
Bohemian
"
quarter
given
over
to
"
people
who
wrote
.
"
It
was
not
the
peril
but
the
poverty
that
her
family
disliked
;
but
that
shade
escaped
her
,
and
she
supposed
they
considered
literature
compromising.She
herself
had
no
fears
of
it
,
and
the
books
scattered
about
her
drawing-room
(
a
part
of
the
house
in
which
books
were
usually
supposed
to
be
"
out
of
place
"
)
,
though
chiefly
works
of
fiction
,
had
whetted
Archer
's
interest
with
such
new
names
as
those
of
Paul
Bourget
,
Huysmans
,
and
the
Goncourt
brothers
.
Ruminating
on
these
things
as
he
approached
her
door
,
he
was
once
more
conscious
of
the
curious
way
in
which
she
reversed
his
values
,
and
of
the
need
of
thinking
himself
into
conditions
incredibly
different
from
any
that
he
knew
if
he
were
to
be
of
use
in
her
present
difficulty.Nastasia
opened
the
door
,
smiling
mysteriously
.
On
the
bench
in
the
hall
lay
a
sable-lined
overcoat
,
a
folded
opera
hat
of
dull
silk
with
a
gold
J.
B.
on
the
lining
,
and
a
white
silk
muffler
:
there
was
no
mistaking
the
fact
that
these
costly
articles
were
the
property
of
Julius
Beaufort.Archer
was
angry
:
so
angry
that
he
came
near
scribbling
a
word
on
his
card
and
going
away
;
then
he
remembered
that
in
writing
to
Madame
Olenska
he
had
been
kept
by
excess
of
discretion
from
saying
that
he
wished
to
see
her
privately
.
He
had
therefore
no
one
but
himself
to
blame
if
she
had
opened
her
doors
to
other
visitors
;
and
he
entered
the
drawing-room
with
the
dogged
determination
to
make
Beaufort
feel
himself
in
the
way
,
and
to
outstay
him.The
banker
stood
leaning
against
the
mantelshelf
,
which
was
draped
with
an
old
embroidery
held
in
place
by
brass
candelabra
containing
church
candles
of
yellowish
wax
.
He
had
thrust
his
chest
out
,
supporting
his
shoulders
against
the
mantel
and
resting
his
weight
on
one
large
patent-leather
foot
.
As
Archer
entered
he
was
smiling
and
looking
down
on
his
hostess
,
who
sat
on
a
sofa
placed
at
right
angles
to
the
chimney
.
A
table
banked
with
flowers
formed
a
screen
behind
it
,
and
against
the
orchids
and
azaleas
which
the
young
man
recognised
as
tributes
from
the
Beaufort
hot-houses
,
Madame
Olenska
sat
half-reclined
,
her
head
propped
on
a
hand
and
her
wide
sleeve
leaving
the
arm
bare
to
the
elbow.It
was
usual
for
ladies
who
received
in
the
evenings
to
wear
what
were
called
"
simple
dinner
dresses
"
:
a
close-fitting
armour
of
whale-boned
silk
,
slightly
open
in
the
neck
,
with
lace
ruffles
filling
in
the
crack
,
and
tight
sleeves
with
a
flounce
uncovering
just
enough
wrist
to
show
an
Etruscan
gold
bracelet
or
a
velvet
band
.
But
Madame
Olenska
,
heedless
of
tradition
,
was
attired
in
a
long
robe
of
red
velvet
bordered
about
the
chin
and
down
the
front
with
glossy
black
fur
.
Archer
remembered
,
on
his
last
visit
to
Paris
,
seeing
a
portrait
by
the
new
painter
,
Carolus
Duran
,
whose
pictures
were
the
sensation
of
the
Salon
,
in
which
the
lady
wore
one
of
these
bold
sheath-like
robes
with
her
chin
nestling
in
fur
.
There
was
something
perverse
and
provocative
in
the
notion
of
fur
worn
in
the
evening
in
a
heated
drawing-room
,
and
in
the
combination
of
a
muffled
throat
and
bare
arms
;
but
the
effect
was
undeniably
pleasing
.
"
Lord
love
us
--
three
whole
days
at
Skuytercliff
!
"
Beaufort
was
saying
in
his
loud
sneering
voice
as
Archer
entered
.
"
You
'd
better
take
all
your
furs
,
and
a
hot-water-bottle
.
"
"
Why
?
Is
the
house
so
cold
?
"
she
asked
,
holding
out
her
left
hand
to
Archer
in
a
way
mysteriously
suggesting
that
she
expected
him
to
kiss
it
.
"
No
;
but
the
missus
is
,
"
said
Beaufort
,
nodding
carelessly
to
the
young
man
.
"
But
I
thought
her
so
kind
.
She
came
herself
to
invite
me
.
Granny
says
I
must
certainly
go
.
"
"
Granny
would
,
of
course
.
And
I
say
it
's
a
shame
you
're
going
to
miss
the
little
oyster
supper
I
'd
planned
for
you
at
Delmonico
's
next
Sunday
,
with
Campanini
and
Scalchi
and
a
lot
of
jolly
people
.
"
She
looked
doubtfully
from
the
banker
to
Archer
.
"
Ah
--
that
does
tempt
me
!
Except
the
other
evening
at
Mrs.
Struthers
's
I
've
not
met
a
single
artist
since
I
've
been
here
.
"
"
What
kind
of
artists
?
I
know
one
or
two
painters
,
very
good
fellows
,
that
I
could
bring
to
see
you
if
you
'd
allow
me
,
"
said
Archer
boldly
.
"
Painters
?
Are
there
painters
in
New
York
?
"
asked
Beaufort
,
in
a
tone
implying
that
there
could
be
none
since
he
did
not
buy
their
pictures
;
and
Madame
Olenska
said
to
Archer
,
with
her
grave
smile
:
"
That
would
be
charming
.
But
I
was
really
thinking
of
dramatic
artists
,
singers
,
actors
,
musicians
.
My
husband
's
house
was
always
full
of
them
.
"
She
said
the
words
"
my
husband
"
as
if
no
sinister
associations
were
connected
with
them
,
and
in
a
tone
that
seemed
almost
to
sigh
over
the
lost
delights
of
her
married
life
.
Archer
looked
at
her
perplexedly
,
wondering
if
it
were
lightness
or
dissimulation
that
enabled
her
to
touch
so
easily
on
the
past
at
the
very
moment
when
she
was
risking
her
reputation
in
order
to
break
with
it
.
"
I
do
think
,
"
she
went
on
,
addressing
both
men
,
"
that
the
imprevu
adds
to
one
's
enjoyment
.
It
's
perhaps
a
mistake
to
see
the
same
people
every
day
.
"
"
It
's
confoundedly
dull
,
anyhow
;
New
York
is
dying
of
dullness
,
"
Beaufort
grumbled
.
"
And
when
I
try
to
liven
it
up
for
you
,
you
go
back
on
me
.
Come
--
think
better
of
it
!
Sunday
is
your
last
chance
,
for
Campanini
leaves
next
week
for
Baltimore
and
Philadelphia
;
and
I
've
a
private
room
,
and
a
Steinway
,
and
they
'll
sing
all
night
for
me
.
"
"
How
delicious
!
May
I
think
it
over
,
and
write
to
you
tomorrow
morning
?
"
She
spoke
amiably
,
yet
with
the
least
hint
of
dismissal
in
her
voice
.
Beaufort
evidently
felt
it
,
and
being
unused
to
dismissals
,
stood
staring
at
her
with
an
obstinate
line
between
his
eyes
.
"
Why
not
now
?
"
"
It
's
too
serious
a
question
to
decide
at
this
late
hour
.
"
"
Do
you
call
it
late
?
"
She
returned
his
glance
coolly
.
"
Yes
;
because
I
have
still
to
talk
business
with
Mr.
Archer
for
a
little
while
.
"
"
Ah
,
"
Beaufort
snapped
.
There
was
no
appeal
from
her
tone
,
and
with
a
slight
shrug
he
recovered
his
composure
,
took
her
hand
,
which
he
kissed
with
a
practised
air
,
and
calling
out
from
the
threshold
:
"
I
say
,
Newland
,
if
you
can
persuade
the
Countess
to
stop
in
town
of
course
you
're
included
in
the
supper
,
"
left
the
room
with
his
heavy
important
step.For
a
moment
Archer
fancied
that
Mr.
Letterblair
must
have
told
her
of
his
coming
;
but
the
irrelevance
of
her
next
remark
made
him
change
his
mind
.
"
You
know
painters
,
then
?
You
live
in
their
milieu
?
"
she
asked
,
her
eyes
full
of
interest
.
"
Oh
,
not
exactly
.
I
do
n't
know
that
the
arts
have
a
milieu
here
,
any
of
them
;
they
're
more
like
a
very
thinly
settled
outskirt
.
"
"
But
you
care
for
such
things
?
"
"
Immensely
.
When
I
'm
in
Paris
or
London
I
never
miss
an
exhibition
.
I
try
to
keep
up
.
"
She
looked
down
at
the
tip
of
the
little
satin
boot
that
peeped
from
her
long
draperies
.
"
I
used
to
care
immensely
too
:
my
life
was
full
of
such
things
.
But
now
I
want
to
try
not
to
.
"
"
You
want
to
try
not
to
?
"
"
Yes
:
I
want
to
cast
off
all
my
old
life
,
to
become
just
like
everybody
else
here
.
"
Archer
reddened
.
"
You
'll
never
be
like
everybody
else
,
"
he
said.She
raised
her
straight
eyebrows
a
little
.
"
Ah
,
do
n't
say
that
.
If
you
knew
how
I
hate
to
be
different
!
"
Her
face
had
grown
as
sombre
as
a
tragic
mask
.
She
leaned
forward
,
clasping
her
knee
in
her
thin
hands
,
and
looking
away
from
him
into
remote
dark
distances
.
"
I
want
to
get
away
from
it
all
,
"
she
insisted.He
waited
a
moment
and
cleared
his
throat
.
"
I
know
.
Mr.
Letterblair
has
told
me
.
"
"
Ah
?
"
"
That
's
the
reason
I
've
come
.
He
asked
me
to
--
you
see
I
'm
in
the
firm
.
"
She
looked
slightly
surprised
,
and
then
her
eyes
brightened
.
"
You
mean
you
can
manage
it
for
me
?
I
can
talk
to
you
instead
of
Mr.
Letterblair
?
Oh
,
that
will
be
so
much
easier
!
"
Her
tone
touched
him
,
and
his
confidence
grew
with
his
self-satisfaction
.
He
perceived
that
she
had
spoken
of
business
to
Beaufort
simply
to
get
rid
of
him
;
and
to
have
routed
Beaufort
was
something
of
a
triumph
.
"
I
am
here
to
talk
about
it
,
"
he
repeated.She
sat
silent
,
her
head
still
propped
by
the
arm
that
rested
on
the
back
of
the
sofa
.
Her
face
looked
pale
and
extinguished
,
as
if
dimmed
by
the
rich
red
of
her
dress
.
She
struck
Archer
,
of
a
sudden
,
as
a
pathetic
and
even
pitiful
figure
.
"
Now
we
're
coming
to
hard
facts
,
"
he
thought
,
conscious
in
himself
of
the
same
instinctive
recoil
that
he
had
so
often
criticised
in
his
mother
and
her
contemporaries
.
How
little
practice
he
had
had
in
dealing
with
unusual
situations
!
Their
very
vocabulary
was
unfamiliar
to
him
,
and
seemed
to
belong
to
fiction
and
the
stage
.
In
face
of
what
was
coming
he
felt
as
awkward
and
embarrassed
as
a
boy.After
a
pause
Madame
Olenska
broke
out
with
unexpected
vehemence
:
"
I
want
to
be
free
;
I
want
to
wipe
out
all
the
past
.
"
"
I
understand
that
.
"
Her
face
warmed
.
"
Then
you
'll
help
me
?
"
"
First
--
"
he
hesitated
--
"
perhaps
I
ought
to
know
a
little
more
.
"
She
seemed
surprised
.
"
You
know
about
my
husband
--
my
life
with
him
?
"
He
made
a
sign
of
assent
.
"
Well
--
then
--
what
more
is
there
?
In
this
country
are
such
things
tolerated
?
I
'm
a
Protestant
--
our
church
does
not
forbid
divorce
in
such
cases
.
"
"
Certainly
not
.
"
They
were
both
silent
again
,
and
Archer
felt
the
spectre
of
Count
Olenski
's
letter
grimacing
hideously
between
them
.
The
letter
filled
only
half
a
page
,
and
was
just
what
he
had
described
it
to
be
in
speaking
of
it
to
Mr.
Letterblair
:
the
vague
charge
of
an
angry
blackguard
.
But
how
much
truth
was
behind
it
?
Only
Count
Olenski
's
wife
could
tell
.
"
I
've
looked
through
the
papers
you
gave
to
Mr.
Letterblair
,
"
he
said
at
length
.
"
Well
--
can
there
be
anything
more
abominable
?
"
"
No
.
"
She
changed
her
position
slightly
,
screening
her
eyes
with
her
lifted
hand
.
"
Of
course
you
know
,
"
Archer
continued
,
"
that
if
your
husband
chooses
to
fight
the
case
--
as
he
threatens
to
--
"
"
Yes
--
?
"
"
He
can
say
things
--
things
that
might
be
unpl
--
might
be
disagreeable
to
you
:
say
them
publicly
,
so
that
they
would
get
about
,
and
harm
you
even
if
--
"
"
If
--
?
"
"
I
mean
:
no
matter
how
unfounded
they
were
.
"
She
paused
for
a
long
interval
;
so
long
that
,
not
wishing
to
keep
his
eyes
on
her
shaded
face
,
he
had
time
to
imprint
on
his
mind
the
exact
shape
of
her
other
hand
,
the
one
on
her
knee
,
and
every
detail
of
the
three
rings
on
her
fourth
and
fifth
fingers
;
among
which
,
he
noticed
,
a
wedding
ring
did
not
appear
.
"
What
harm
could
such
accusations
,
even
if
he
made
them
publicly
,
do
me
here
?
"
It
was
on
his
lips
to
exclaim
:
"
My
poor
child
--
far
more
harm
than
anywhere
else
!
"
Instead
,
he
answered
,
in
a
voice
that
sounded
in
his
ears
like
Mr.
Letterblair
's
:
"
New
York
society
is
a
very
small
world
compared
with
the
one
you
've
lived
in
.
And
it
's
ruled
,
in
spite
of
appearances
,
by
a
few
people
with
--
well
,
rather
old-fashioned
ideas
.
"
She
said
nothing
,
and
he
continued
:
"
Our
ideas
about
marriage
and
divorce
are
particularly
old-fashioned
.
Our
legislation
favours
divorce
--
our
social
customs
do
n't
.
"
"
Never
?
"
"
Well
--
not
if
the
woman
,
however
injured
,
however
irreproachable
,
has
appearances
in
the
least
degree
against
her
,
has
exposed
herself
by
any
unconventional
action
to
--
to
offensive
insinuations
--
"
She
drooped
her
head
a
little
lower
,
and
he
waited
again
,
intensely
hoping
for
a
flash
of
indignation
,
or
at
least
a
brief
cry
of
denial
.
None
came.A
little
travelling
clock
ticked
purringly
at
her
elbow
,
and
a
log
broke
in
two
and
sent
up
a
shower
of
sparks
.
The
whole
hushed
and
brooding
room
seemed
to
be
waiting
silently
with
Archer
.
"
Yes
,
"
she
murmured
at
length
,
"
that
's
what
my
family
tell
me
.
"
He
winced
a
little
.
"
It
's
not
unnatural
--
"
"
OUR
family
,
"
she
corrected
herself
;
and
Archer
coloured
.
"
For
you
'll
be
my
cousin
soon
,
"
she
continued
gently
.
"
I
hope
so
.
"
"
And
you
take
their
view
?
"
He
stood
up
at
this
,
wandered
across
the
room
,
stared
with
void
eyes
at
one
of
the
pictures
against
the
old
red
damask
,
and
came
back
irresolutely
to
her
side
.
How
could
he
say
:
"
Yes
,
if
what
your
husband
hints
is
true
,
or
if
you
've
no
way
of
disproving
it
?
"
"
Sincerely
--
"
she
interjected
,
as
he
was
about
to
speak.He
looked
down
into
the
fire
.
