Chapter 10
Chapter 10
The next day he persuaded May to escape for a walk in the Park after luncheon. As was the custom in old-fashioned Episcopalian New York, she usually accompanied her parents to church on Sunday afternoons; but Mrs. Welland condoned her truancy, having that very morning won her over to the necessity of a long engagement, with time to prepare a hand-embroidered trousseau containing the proper number of dozens.
The day was delectable. The bare vaulting of trees along the Mall was ceiled with lapis lazuli, and arched above snow that shone like splintered crystals. It was the weather to call out May's radiance, and she burned like a young maple in the frost. Archer was proud of the glances turned on her, and the simple joy of possessorship cleared away his underlying perplexities.
"It's so delicious--waking every morning to smell lilies-of-the-valley in one's room!" she said.
"Yesterday they came late. I hadn't time in the morning--"
"But your remembering each day to send them makes me love them so much more than if you'd given a standing order, and they came every morning on the minute, like one's music-teacher--as I know Gertrude Lefferts's did, for instance, when she and Lawrence were engaged."
"Ah--they would!" laughed Archer, amused at her keenness. He looked sideways at her fruit-like cheek and felt rich and secure enough to add: "When I sent your lilies yesterday afternoon I saw some rather gorgeous yellow roses and packed them off to Madame Olenska. Was that right?"
"How dear of you! Anything of that kind delights her. It's odd she didn't mention it: she lunched with us today, and spoke of Mr. Beaufort's having sent her wonderful orchids, and cousin Henry van der Luyden a whole hamper of carnations from Skuytercliff. She seems so surprised to receive flowers. Don't people send them in Europe? She thinks it such a pretty custom."
"Oh, well, no wonder mine were overshadowed by Beaufort's," said Archer irritably. Then he remembered that he had not put a card with the roses, and was vexed at having spoken of them. He wanted to say: "I called on your cousin yesterday," but hesitated. If Madame Olenska had not spoken of his visit it might seem awkward that he should. Yet not to do so gave the affair an air of mystery that he disliked. To shake off the question he began to talk of their own plans, their future, and Mrs. Welland's insistence on a long engagement.
"If you call it long! Isabel Chivers and Reggie were engaged for two years: Grace and Thorley for nearly a year and a half. Why aren't we very well off as we are?"
It was the traditional maidenly interrogation, and he felt ashamed of himself for finding it singularly childish. No doubt she simply echoed what was said for her; but she was nearing her twenty-second birthday, and he wondered at what age "nice" women began to speak for themselves.
"Never, if we won't let them, I suppose," he mused, and recalled his mad outburst to Mr. Sillerton Jackson: "Women ought to be as free as we are--"
It would presently be his task to take the bandage from this young woman's eyes, and bid her look forth on the world. But how many generations of the women who had gone to her making had descended bandaged to the family vault? He shivered a little, remembering some of the new ideas in his scientific books, and the much-cited instance of the Kentucky cave-fish, which had ceased to develop eyes because they had no use for them. What if, when he had bidden May Welland to open hers, they could only look out blankly at blankness?
"We might be much better off. We might be altogether together--we might travel."
Her face lit up. "That would be lovely," she owned: she would love to travel. But her mother would not understand their wanting to do things so differently.
"As if the mere `differently' didn't account for it!" the wooer insisted.
"Newland! You're so original!" she exulted.
His heart sank, for he saw that he was saying all the things that young men in the same situation were expected to say, and that she was making the answers that instinct and tradition taught her to make--even to the point of calling him original.
"Original! We're all as like each other as those dolls cut out of the same folded paper. We're like patterns stencilled on a wall. Can't you and I strike out for ourselves, May?"
He had stopped and faced her in the excitement of their discussion, and her eyes rested on him with a bright unclouded admiration.
"Mercy--shall we elope?" she laughed.
"If you would--"
"You DO love me, Newland! I'm so happy."
"But then--why not be happier?"
"We can't behave like people in novels, though, can we?"
"Why not--why not--why not?"
She looked a little bored by his insistence. She knew very well that they couldn't, but it was troublesome to have to produce a reason. "I'm not clever enough to argue with you. But that kind of thing is rather--vulgar, isn't it?" she suggested, relieved to have hit on a word that would assuredly extinguish the whole subject.
"Are you so much afraid, then, of being vulgar?"
She was evidently staggered by this. "Of course I should hate it--so would you," she rejoined, a trifle irritably.
He stood silent, beating his stick nervously against his boot-top; and feeling that she had indeed found the right way of closing the discussion, she went on light- heartedly: "Oh, did I tell you that I showed Ellen my ring? She thinks it the most beautiful setting she ever saw. There's nothing like it in the rue de la Paix, she said. I do love you, Newland, for being so artistic!"
The next afternoon, as Archer, before dinner, sat smoking sullenly in his study, Janey wandered in on him. He had failed to stop at his club on the way up from the office where he exercised the profession of the law in the leisurely manner common to well-to-do New Yorkers of his class. He was out of spirits and slightly out of temper, and a haunting horror of doing the same thing every day at the same hour besieged his brain.
"Sameness--sameness!" he muttered, the word running through his head like a persecuting tune as he saw the familiar tall-hatted figures lounging behind the plate- glass; and because he usually dropped in at the club at that hour he had gone home instead. He knew not only what they were likely to be talking about, but the part each one would take in the discussion. The Duke of course would be their principal theme; though the appearance in Fifth Avenue of a golden-haired lady in a small canary-coloured brougham with a pair of black cobs (for which Beaufort was generally thought responsible) would also doubtless be thoroughly gone into. Such "women" (as they were called) were few in New York, those driving their own carriages still fewer, and the appearance of Miss Fanny Ring in Fifth Avenue at the fashionable hour had profoundly agitated society. Only the day before, her carriage had passed Mrs. Lovell Mingott's, and the latter had instantly rung the little bell at her elbow and ordered the coachman to drive her home. "What if it had happened to Mrs. van der Luyden?" people asked each other with a shudder. Archer could hear Lawrence Lefferts, at that very hour, holding forth on the disintegration of society.
He raised his head irritably when his sister Janey entered, and then quickly bent over his book (Swinburne's "Chastelard"--just out) as if he had not seen her. She glanced at the writing-table heaped with books, opened a volume of the "Contes Drolatiques," made a wry face over the archaic French, and sighed: "What learned things you read!"
"Well--?" he asked, as she hovered Cassandra-like before him.
"Mother's very angry."
"Angry? With whom? About what?"
"Miss Sophy Jackson has just been here. She brought word that her brother would come in after dinner: she couldn't say very much, because he forbade her to: he wishes to give all the details himself. He's with cousin Louisa van der Luyden now."
"For heaven's sake, my dear girl, try a fresh start. It would take an omniscient Deity to know what you're talking about."
"It's not a time to be profane, Newland. . . . Mother feels badly enough about your not going to church . . ."
With a groan he plunged back into his book.
"NEWLAND! Do listen. Your friend Madame Olenska was at Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's party last night: she went there with the Duke and Mr. Beaufort."
At the last clause of this announcement a senseless anger swelled the young man's breast. To smother it he laughed. "Well, what of it? I knew she meant to."
Janey paled and her eyes began to project. "You knew she meant to--and you didn't try to stop her? To warn her?"
"Stop her? Warn her?" He laughed again. "I'm not engaged to be married to the Countess Olenska!" The words had a fantastic sound in his own ears.
"You're marrying into her family."
"Oh, family--family!" he jeered.
"Newland--don't you care about Family?"
"Not a brass farthing."
"Nor about what cousin Louisa van der Luyden will think?"
"Not the half of one--if she thinks such old maid's rubbish."
"Mother is not an old maid," said his virgin sister with pinched lips.
He felt like shouting back: "Yes, she is, and so are the van der Luydens, and so we all are, when it comes to being so much as brushed by the wing-tip of Reality." But he saw her long gentle face puckering into tears, and felt ashamed of the useless pain he was inflicting.
"Hang Countess Olenska! Don't be a goose, Janey-- I'm not her keeper."
"No; but you DID ask the Wellands to announce your engagement sooner so that we might all back her up; and if it hadn't been for that cousin Louisa would never have invited her to the dinner for the Duke."
"Well--what harm was there in inviting her? She was the best-looking woman in the room; she made the dinner a little less funereal than the usual van der Luyden banquet."
"You know cousin Henry asked her to please you: he persuaded cousin Louisa. And now they're so upset that they're going back to Skuytercliff tomorrow. I think, Newland, you'd better come down. You don't seem to understand how mother feels."
In the drawing-room Newland found his mother. She raised a troubled brow from her needlework to ask: "Has Janey told you?"
"Yes." He tried to keep his tone as measured as her own. "But I can't take it very seriously."
"Not the fact of having offended cousin Louisa and cousin Henry?"
"The fact that they can be offended by such a trifle as Countess Olenska's going to the house of a woman they consider common."
"Consider--!"
"Well, who is; but who has good music, and amuses people on Sunday evenings, when the whole of New York is dying of inanition."
"Good music? All I know is, there was a woman who got up on a table and sang the things they sing at the places you go to in Paris. There was smoking and champagne."
"Well--that kind of thing happens in other places, and the world still goes on."
"I don't suppose, dear, you're really defending the French Sunday?"
"I've heard you often enough, mother, grumble at the English Sunday when we've been in London."
"New York is neither Paris nor London."
"Oh, no, it's not!" her son groaned.
"You mean, I suppose, that society here is not as brilliant? You're right, I daresay; but we belong here, and people should respect our ways when they come among us. Ellen Olenska especially: she came back to get away from the kind of life people lead in brilliant societies."
Newland made no answer, and after a moment his mother ventured: "I was going to put on my bonnet and ask you to take me to see cousin Louisa for a moment before dinner." He frowned, and she continued: "I thought you might explain to her what you've just said: that society abroad is different . . . that people are not as particular, and that Madame Olenska may not have realised how we feel about such things. It would be, you know, dear," she added with an innocent adroitness, "in Madame Olenska's interest if you did."
"Dearest mother, I really don't see how we're concerned in the matter. The Duke took Madame Olenska to Mrs. Struthers's--in fact he brought Mrs. Struthers to call on her. I was there when they came. If the van der Luydens want to quarrel with anybody, the real culprit is under their own roof."
"Quarrel? Newland, did you ever know of cousin Henry's quarrelling? Besides, the Duke's his guest; and a stranger too. Strangers don't discriminate: how should they? Countess Olenska is a New Yorker, and should have respected the feelings of New York."
"Well, then, if they must have a victim, you have my leave to throw Madame Olenska to them," cried her son, exasperated. "I don't see myself--or you either-- offering ourselves up to expiate her crimes."
"Oh, of course you see only the Mingott side," his mother answered, in the sensitive tone that was her nearest approach to anger.
The sad butler drew back the drawing-room portieres and announced: "Mr. Henry van der Luyden."
Mrs. Archer dropped her needle and pushed her chair back with an agitated hand.
"Another lamp," she cried to the retreating servant, while Janey bent over to straighten her mother's cap.
Mr. van der Luyden's figure loomed on the threshold, and Newland Archer went forward to greet his cousin.
"We were just talking about you, sir," he said.
Mr. van der Luyden seemed overwhelmed by the announcement. He drew off his glove to shake hands with the ladies, and smoothed his tall hat shyly, while Janey pushed an arm-chair forward, and Archer continued: "And the Countess Olenska."
Mrs. Archer paled.
"Ah--a charming woman. I have just been to see her," said Mr. van der Luyden, complacency restored to his brow. He sank into the chair, laid his hat and gloves on the floor beside him in the old-fashioned way, and went on: "She has a real gift for arranging flowers. I had sent her a few carnations from Skuytercliff, and I was astonished. Instead of massing them in big bunches as our head-gardener does, she had scattered them about loosely, here and there . . . I can't say how. The Duke had told me: he said: `Go and see how cleverly she's arranged her drawing-room.' And she has. I should really like to take Louisa to see her, if the neighbourhood were not so--unpleasant."
A dead silence greeted this unusual flow of words from Mr. van der Luyden. Mrs. Archer drew her embroidery out of the basket into which she had nervously tumbled it, and Newland, leaning against the chimney-place and twisting a humming-bird-feather screen in his hand, saw Janey's gaping countenance lit up by the coming of the second lamp.
"The fact is," Mr. van der Luyden continued, stroking his long grey leg with a bloodless hand weighed down by the Patroon's great signet-ring, "the fact is, I dropped in to thank her for the very pretty note she wrote me about my flowers; and also--but this is between ourselves, of course--to give her a friendly warning about allowing the Duke to carry her off to parties with him. I don't know if you've heard--"
Mrs. Archer produced an indulgent smile. "Has the Duke been carrying her off to parties?"
"You know what these English grandees are. They're all alike. Louisa and I are very fond of our cousin--but it's hopeless to expect people who are accustomed to the European courts to trouble themselves about our little republican distinctions. The Duke goes where he's amused." Mr. van der Luyden paused, but no one spoke. "Yes--it seems he took her with him last night to Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's. Sillerton Jackson has just been to us with the foolish story, and Louisa was rather troubled. So I thought the shortest way was to go straight to Countess Olenska and explain--by the merest hint, you know--how we feel in New York about certain things. I felt I might, without indelicacy, because the evening she dined with us she rather suggested . . . rather let me see that she would be grateful for guidance. And she WAS."
Mr. van der Luyden looked about the room with what would have been self-satisfaction on features less purged of the vulgar passions. On his face it became a mild benevolence which Mrs. Archer's countenance dutifully reflected.
"How kind you both are, dear Henry--always! Newland will particularly appreciate what you have done because of dear May and his new relations."
She shot an admonitory glance at her son, who said: "Immensely, sir. But I was sure you'd like Madame Olenska."
Mr. van der Luyden looked at him with extreme gentleness. "I never ask to my house, my dear Newland," he said, "any one whom I do not like. And so I have just told Sillerton Jackson." With a glance at the clock he rose and added: "But Louisa will be waiting. We are dining early, to take the Duke to the Opera."
After the portieres had solemnly closed behind their visitor a silence fell upon the Archer family.
"Gracious--how romantic!" at last broke explosively from Janey. No one knew exactly what inspired her elliptic comments, and her relations had long since given up trying to interpret them.
Mrs. Archer shook her head with a sigh. "Provided it all turns out for the best," she said, in the tone of one who knows how surely it will not. "Newland, you must stay and see Sillerton Jackson when he comes this evening: I really shan't know what to say to him."
"Poor mother! But he won't come--" her son laughed, stooping to kiss away her frown.
第二天，他说服梅脱出身来，午饭后到公园去散步。按照纽约圣公会教徒的老习惯，她在星期天下午一般是要陪父母去教堂的。不过就在上午，韦兰太太刚刚说通她同意将订婚期延长，以便有时间准备足够的手工刺绣作嫁妆，所以就宽容了她的偷懒。
天气十分信人。碧蓝的天空衬托着林阴大道上那些树木光秃秃的圆顶，树顶下面的残雪像无数水晶碎片熠熠闪光。这天气使得梅容光焕发，像霜雪中的一棵小枫树那样光彩夺目。阿切尔为路人投向她的目光而感到自豪，占有者率直的幸福感清除了他内心深处的烦恼。
“每天清晨醒来在自己屋里闻到铃兰的香味，真是太美了！”她说。
“昨天送晚了，上午我没时间——”
“可你天天都想到送鲜花来，这比长期预订更让我喜欢。而且每天早晨都按时送到，就像音乐教师那样准时——比如就我所知，格特鲁德•莱弗茨和劳伦斯订婚期间，她就是这样。”
“啊，这是完全应该的！”阿切尔笑着说，觉得她那热诚的样子很有趣。他斜视着她苹果般的脸颊，想起昨天送花的事，觉得虽然荒唐却也很安全，不由得说道：“我昨天下午给你送铃兰的时候，看到几支漂亮的黄玫瑰，便叫人给奥兰斯卡夫人送去了。你说好吗？”
“你真可爱！这样的事会让她十分高兴的。奇怪，她怎么没提呢？她今天跟我们一起吃的午饭，还说起博福特先生给她送去了漂亮的兰花，亨利•范德卢顿送了满满一篮斯库特克利夫的石竹呢。她收到花好像十分惊讶。难道欧洲人不送鲜花吗？不过她认为这种风俗非常好。”
“噢，一准是我的花被博福特的压住了，”阿切尔烦躁地说。接着他想起自己没有随玫瑰花附上名片，又懊悔说出了这件事。他想说，“我昨天拜访了你的表姐”，但又犹豫了。假如奥兰斯卡夫人没有讲起他的拜访，他说出来似乎有些尴尬。然而不讲又会使事情带上一层神秘色彩，他不喜欢那样。为了甩掉这个问题，他开始谈论他们自己的计划，他们的未来，以及韦兰太太坚持要延长订婚期的事。
“这还算长！伊莎贝尔•奇弗斯和里吉的订婚期是两年，格雷斯和索利差不多有一年半。我们这样不是很好吗？”
这是少女习惯性的反问，他觉得特别幼稚，并为此感到惭愧。她无疑是在重复别人对她说过的话，可是她都快满22岁了，他不明白，“有教养”的女子要到多大年龄才能开始替自己说话。
“她们永远不会的，假如我们不允许她们，”他在心里想道。他突然记起了他对西勒顿•杰克逊说过的那句义正词严的话：“女人应当跟我们一样自由——”
他眼下的任务是取下蒙在这位年轻女子眼上的绷带，让她睁开眼睛看一看世界。然而，在她之前，已经有多少代像她这样的女人，带着蒙在眼上的绷带沉入了家族的地下灵堂呢？他不禁打了个冷颤，想起在科学书籍中读到的一些新思想，还想起经常被引证的肯塔基的岩洞鱼，那种鱼由于眼睛派不上用场，它们的眼睛已经大大退化了。假如他让梅•韦兰睁开眼睛，她只能茫然地看到一片空白，那该怎么办呢？
“我们可以过得更快乐，我们可以始终在一起——我们可以去旅行。”
她脸上露出喜色说：“那倒是很美。”她承认她喜爱旅行，但他们想做的事那么与众不同，她母亲是不会理解的。
“好像这还不仅仅是‘与众不同’的问题！”阿切尔坚持说。
“纽兰！你是多么独特呀！”她高兴地说。
他的心不由一沉。他觉得自己讲的完全是处于同样情况下的年轻人肯定要讲的内容，而她的回答却完全是本能与传统教她的那种回答。她居然会说他“独特”！
“有什么‘独特’的！我们全都跟用同一块折叠的纸剪出的娃娃一样相似，我们就像用模板印在墙上的图案。难道你我不能走自己的路吗，梅？”
他打住话头，面对着她，沉浸在因讨论产生的兴奋之中；她望着他，目光里闪烁着欣喜明朗的倾慕。
“天哪——我们私奔好吗？”她笑着说。
“如果你肯——”
“你确实很爱我，纽兰！我真幸福。”
“那么——为什么不更幸福些？”
“可是，我们也不能像小说中的人那样啊，对吗？”
“为什么不——为什么不——为什么不呢？”
她看上去对他的执拗有点不悦，她很清楚他们不能那样做，不过要说清道理却又很难。“我没那么聪明，无法跟你争论。可那种事有点——粗俗，不是吗？”她暗示说，因为想出了一个肯定能结束这个话题的词而松了口气。
“这么说，你是很害怕粗俗了？”
她显然被这话吓了一跳。“我当然会讨厌了——你也会的，”她有点生气地回答说。
他站在那儿一语不发，神经质地用手杖敲着他的靴子尖，觉得她的确找到了结束争论的好办法。她心情轻松地接着说：“喂，我让埃伦看过我的戒指了，我告诉过你了吗？她认为这是她见过的最美的镶嵌了。她说，贝克斯大街上根本没有能与之相比的货色。我太爱你了，纽兰，因为你这么有艺术眼光。”
第二天晚饭之前，阿切尔正心情阴郁地坐在书房里吸烟，詹尼漫步进来走到他跟前。他今天从事务所回来的路上，没有去俱乐部逗留。他从事法律职业，对待工作像纽约他那个富有阶级的其他人一样漫不经心。他情绪低落，心烦意乱。每天在同一时间都要干同样的事，这使他脑子里塞满了挥之不去的痛苦。
“千篇一律——千篇一律！”他看着玻璃板后面那些百无聊赖的戴高帽子的熟悉身影咕哝说，这话像纠缠不休的乐曲在他脑袋里不停地回响，平时这个时候他都是在俱乐部逗留，而今天他却直接回了家。他不仅知道他们可能谈论什么，而且还知道每个人在讨论中站在哪一方。公爵当然会是他们谈论的主题，尽管那位乘坐一对黑色矮脚马拉的淡黄色小马车的金发女子在第五大街的露面（此事人们普遍认为归功于博福特）无疑也将会被他们深入的研究。这样的“女人”（人们如此称呼她们）在纽约还很少见，自己驾驶马车的就更稀罕了。范妮•琳小姐在社交时间出现在第五大街，深深刺激了上流社会。就在前一天，她的马车从洛弗尔•明戈特太太的车旁驶过，后者立即摇了摇身边的小铃铛，命令车夫马上送她回家。“这事若发生在范德卢顿太太身上，又会怎样呢？”人们不寒而栗地相互问道。此时此刻，阿切尔甚至仿佛能听见劳伦斯•莱弗茨正就社交界的分崩离析发表高见。
妹妹詹尼进屋的时候，他烦躁地抬起头来，接着又迅速俯身读他的书（斯温伯恩的《沙特拉尔》——刚出版的），仿佛没看见她一样。她瞥了一眼堆满书籍的写字台，打开一卷《幽默故事》，对着那些古法语愁眉苦脸地说：“你读的东西好深奥呀！”
“嗯——？”他问道，只见她像卡珊德拉一样站在面前。
“妈妈非常生气呢。”
“生气？跟谁？为什么？”
“索菲•杰克逊小姐刚才来过，捎话说她哥哥晚饭后要来我们家；她不能多讲，因为他不许她讲，他要亲自告诉我们全部细节。他现在跟路易莎•范德卢顿在一起。”
“老天爷，我的好姑娘，求你从头讲一遍。只有全能的上帝才能听明白你讲的究竟是什么事。”
“这可不是亵渎神灵的时候，纽兰……你没去教堂的事让妈妈伤心透了……”
他哼了一声，又埋头读他的书去了。
“纽兰！你听着，你的朋友奥兰斯卡夫人昨晚参加了莱姆尔•斯特拉瑟斯太太的宴会，她是跟公爵和博福特先生一起去的。”
听了最后一句话，一团无名火涌上年轻人的心头。为了压住怒火，他放声大笑起来。“哈哈，这有什么了不起？我本来就知道她要去的。”
詹尼脸色煞白，两眼发直。“你本来就知道她要去——而你却没有设法阻止她，警告她？”
“阻止她，警告她？”他又大笑起来。“我的婚约又不是要我娶奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人！”
“可你就要跟她的家庭结亲了。”
“哼，什么家庭——家庭！”他嘲笑说。
“纽兰——难道你不关心家庭吗？”
“我毫不在乎。”
“连路易莎•范德卢顿会怎样想也不在乎？”
“半点都不——假如她想的是这种老处女的废话。”
“妈妈可不是老处女，”身为处女的妹妹噘着嘴说。
他想朝她大叫大嚷：“不，她是个老处女。范德卢顿夫妇也是老处女。而且一旦被现实廓清面目之后，我们大家全都是老处女。”然而，一看到她那张文静的长脸皱缩着流下了眼泪，他又为使她蒙受痛苦而感到惭愧了。
“去他的奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人！别像个小傻瓜似的，詹尼——我可不是她的监护人。”
“对；可你要求韦兰家提前宣布你的订婚消息，还不是为了让我们都去支持她？而且，若不是这个理由，路易莎也决不会请她参加为公爵举办的宴会。”
“哎——邀请了她又有何妨？她成了客厅里最漂亮的女人，她使得晚宴比范德卢顿平日那种宴会少了不少丧葬气氛。”
“你知道亨利表亲邀请她是为了让你高兴，是他说服了路易莎。他们现在很烦恼，准备明天就回斯库特克利夫去。我想，你最好下去一趟，纽兰。看来你还不理解妈妈的心情。”
纽兰在客厅里见到了母亲。她停下针线活，抬起忧虑的额头问道：“詹尼告诉你了吗？”
“告诉了，”他尽量用像她那样审慎的语气说。“不过我看问题没那么严重。”
“得罪了路易莎和亨利表亲还不严重？”
“我是说奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人去了一个他们认为是平民的女人家，他们不会为这样一件小事生气。”
“认为——？”
“哦，她就是平民；不过她有好的音乐天赋，在星期天晚上整个纽约空虚得要命时给人们助兴。”
“音乐天赋？据我所知，有个女人爬到了桌子上，唱了那种你在巴黎去的那些去处才唱的东西。还吸烟喝香摈呢。”
“唔——这种事在其他地方也有，可地球还不是照转不误！”
“我想，亲爱的，你不是当真在为法国的星期天辩护吧？”
“妈妈，我们在伦敦的时候，我可是常听你抱怨英国的星期天呢。”
“纽约既不是巴黎，也不是伦敦。”
“噢，对，不是！”儿子哼着说。
“我想，你的意思是这里的社交界不够出色？我敢说，你说得很对；但我们属于这里。有人来到我们中间就应该尊重我们的生活方式，尤其是埃伦•奥兰斯卡：她来这儿不就是为了摆脱在出色的社交界过的那种生活嘛。”
纽兰没有回答。过了一会儿，她母亲又试探地说：“我刚才正要戴上帽子，让你带我在晚饭前去见一见路易莎。”他皱起了眉头，她接着说：“我以为你可以向她解释一下你刚刚说过的话：国外的社交界有所不同……人们并不那么计较。还有，奥兰斯卡夫人可能没想到我们对这种事情的态度。你知道，亲爱的，”她故作天真地巧言补充说：“如果你这么做，对奥兰斯卡夫人是很有好处的。”
“亲爱的妈妈，我真不明白，我们与这件事有什么相干。是公爵带奥兰斯卡夫人到斯特拉瑟斯太太家去的——实际上是他先带了斯特拉瑟斯太太去拜访了她。他们去的时候我在那儿。假如范德卢顿夫妇想跟谁吵架，真正的教唆犯就在他们自己家。”
“吵架？纽兰，你听说过，亨利表兄吵过架吗？而且，公爵是他的客人，又是个外国人，外国人不见怪，他们怎么会吵架呢？奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人是个纽约人，她倒是应该尊重纽约人的感情的。”
“嗯，如果他们一定要找一个牺牲品，那我同意你把奥兰斯卡夫人交给他们，”儿子恼怒地喊道。“我是不会——你也未必会——自动替她抵罪的。”
“你当然只会为明戈特一方考虑了，”母亲回答说，她语气很敏感，眼看就要发怒了。
脸色阴郁的管家拉起了客厅的门帘，通报说：“亨利•范德卢顿先生到。”
阿切尔太太扔下手中的针，用颤抖的手把椅子向后推了推。
“再点一盏灯，”她向退出去的仆人喊道，詹尼这时正低头抚平母亲的便帽。
范德卢顿先生的身影出现在门口，纽兰•阿切尔走上前去欢迎这位表亲。
“我们正在谈论你呢，大人，’他说。
范德卢顿先生听了这一消息似乎深受感动，他脱掉手套去跟女士们握手，然后小心地抚平他的高礼帽，这时詹尼将一把扶手椅推到前边，阿切尔则接着说：“还说到奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人。”
阿切尔太太脸色煞白。
“啊——一个迷人的女子。我刚去看过她，”范德卢顿先生说，得意的神情又回到他的脸上。他坐到椅子上，按老习惯把礼帽和手套放在身旁的地板上，接着说： “她布置鲜花可真有天才，我给她送去一点斯库特克利夫的石竹花。让我吃了一惊的是，她不是像园丁那样把它们集成一束一束的，而是随意地把它们散开，这儿一些，那儿一些……我不知道她怎么那么灵巧。公爵事前告诉过我，他说：‘去瞧瞧她布置客厅有多巧吧。’确实不错。我本想带路易莎去看她来着，若不是周围环境那样——不愉快。”
迎接范德卢顿先生非同寻常的滔滔话语的是一阵死寂。阿切尔太太从篮子里抽出她刚才紧张地塞在里面的刺绣，阿切尔倚在壁炉边，拧着手中的蜂鸟羽毛帘子，他看见詹尼目瞪口呆的表情被送来的第二盏灯照得一清二楚。
“事实上，”范德卢顿先生接着说，一面用一只没有血色的手抚摩着他那长长的灰靴筒，手上戴着那枚硕大的庄园主图章戒指。“事实上，我的顺访是为了感谢她为那些花而写的非常漂亮的回函；还想——这一点可别向外传——向她提出友好的警告，叫她别让公爵随便带着去参加聚会。我不知你们是否听到了——”
阿切尔太太脸上露出宽容的微笑。“公爵是诱使她参加聚会了吗？”
“你知道这些英国显贵的德性，他们全都一样。路易莎和我很喜欢我们这位表亲——不过指望习惯了欧洲宅邸的人劳神去留心我们共和主义的小小差别，那是绝对办不到的。哪里能寻开心，公爵就到哪里去。”范德卢顿停顿一下，但没有人吭声。“是的——看来昨晚是他带她到莱姆尔•斯特拉瑟斯太太家去的。西勒顿•杰克逊刚才到我们家去过，讲了这件荒唐事。路易莎很不安。所以我想最好的捷径就是直接去找奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人，并向她说明——仅仅是暗示，你知道——在纽约我们对某些事情的看法。我觉得我可以做到这一点，而且不会有什么不得体，因为她同我们一起进晚餐的那天晚上，她好像说过——让我想想看——她会感激对她的指导，而她的确如此。”
范德卢顿先生四面看了看，那神态若是出现在普通的庸俗之辈的脸上，满可以称得上是一种自鸣得意。但在他的脸上，却是一种淡淡的仁慈；阿切尔太太一见，马上义不容辞地露出了同样的表情。
“你们俩真是太仁慈了，亲爱的亨利——而且是一贯如此呀！你对梅和他的新亲戚的关照，纽兰会分外感激的。”
她向儿子投去敦促的目光。儿子说：“感激不尽，大人。不过我早知道你会喜欢奥兰斯卡夫人的。”
范德卢顿先生极有风度地看着他说：“亲爱的纽兰，我从来不请任何我不喜欢的人到我家作客。我刚才也对西勒顿•杰克逊这样讲过。”他瞥了一眼时钟站了起来，接着说：“路易莎要等我了。我们准备早点儿吃饭，带公爵去听歌剧。”
门帘在客人身后庄严地合拢之后，一片沉寂降临在阿切尔的家人之中。
“真高雅——太浪漫了！”詹尼终于爆发似地说。谁都不明白什么事激发了她这简洁的评论，她的亲人早已放弃了解释这种评论的企图。
阿切尔太太叹口气摇了摇头。“但愿结果是皆大欢喜，”她说，那口气却明知绝对不可能。“纽兰，你一定要待在家里，等晚上西勒顿•杰克逊先生来的时候见见他，我真的不知该对他说些什么。”
“可怜的妈妈！可是他不会来了——”儿子笑着说，一面弯身吻开她的愁眉。