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The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton CHAPTER VII.
Mrs. Henry van der Luyden listened in silence to her cousin Mrs. Archer's
narrative.
It was all very well to tell yourself in advance that Mrs. van der Luyden was always
silent, and that, though non-committal by nature and training, she was very kind to
the people she really liked.
Even personal experience of these facts was not always a protection from the chill that
descended on one in the high-ceilinged white-walled Madison Avenue drawing-room,
with the pale brocaded armchairs so
obviously uncovered for the occasion, and the gauze still veiling the ormolu mantel
ornaments and the beautiful old carved frame of Gainsborough's "Lady Angelica du
Lac."
Mrs. 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 life-time, 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 finger-tips 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 be
considered--final."
"It seems so to me," said his wife, as if she were producing a new thought.
"I had no idea," Mr. van der Luyden continued, "that things had come to such a
pass."
He paused, and looked at his wife again. "It occurs to me, my dear, that the
Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation--through Medora Manson's first
husband.
At any rate, she will be when Newland marries."
He turned toward the young man. "Have you read this morning's Times,
Newland?"
"Why, yes, sir," said Archer, who usually tossed off half a dozen papers with his
morning coffee. Husband and wife looked at each other
again.
Their pale eyes clung together in prolonged and serious consultation; then a faint
smile fluttered over Mrs. van der Luyden's face.
She had evidently guessed and approved.
Mr. van der Luyden turned to Mrs. Archer.
"If Louisa's health allowed her to dine out--I wish you would say to Mrs. Lovell
Mingott--she and I would have been happy to--er--fill the places of the Lawrence
Leffertses at her dinner."
He paused to let the irony of this sink in. "As you know, this is impossible."
Mrs. Archer sounded a sympathetic assent.
"But Newland tells me he has read this morning's Times; therefore he has probably
seen that Louisa's relative, the Duke of St. Austrey, arrives next week on the
Russia.
He is coming to enter his new sloop, the Guinevere, in next summer's International
Cup Race; and also to have a little canvasback shooting at Trevenna."
Mr. van der Luyden paused again, and continued with increasing benevolence:
"Before taking him down to Maryland we are inviting a few friends to meet him here--
only a little dinner--with a reception afterward.
I am sure Louisa will be as glad as I am if Countess Olenska will let us include her
among our guests."
He got up, bent his long body with a stiff friendliness toward his cousin, and added:
"I think I have Louisa's authority for saying that she will herself leave the
invitation to dine when she drives out
presently: with our cards--of course with our cards."
Mrs. Archer, who knew this to be a hint that the seventeen-hand chestnuts which
were never kept waiting were at the door, rose with a hurried murmur of thanks.
Mrs. van der Luyden beamed on her with the smile of Esther interceding with Ahasuerus;
but her husband raised a protesting hand. "There is nothing to thank me for, dear
Adeline; nothing whatever.
This kind of thing must not happen in New York; it shall not, as long as I can help
it," he pronounced with sovereign gentleness as he steered his cousins to the
door.
Two hours later, every one knew that the great C-spring barouche in which Mrs. van
der Luyden took the air at all seasons had been seen at old Mrs. Mingott's door, where
a large square envelope was handed in; and
that evening at the Opera Mr. Sillerton Jackson was able to state that the envelope
contained a card inviting the Countess Olenska to the dinner which the van der
Luydens were giving the following week for their cousin, the Duke of St. Austrey.
Some of the younger men in the club box exchanged a smile at this announcement, and
glanced sideways at Lawrence Lefferts, who sat carelessly in the front of the box,
pulling his long fair moustache, and who
remarked with authority, as the soprano paused: "No one but Patti ought to attempt
the Sonnambula."