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Letterblair, leaning back in his chair and pushing the port westward, said, spreading his back agreeably to the coal fire behind him: "The whole family are against a divorce. And I think rightly." Archer instantly felt himself on the other side of the argument. "But why, sir? If there ever was a case " "Well what's the use? SHE'S here he's there; the Atlantic's between them.
Mr. Letterblair nodded approvingly at an excess of caution worthy of the best New York tradition, and the young man, glancing at his watch, pleaded an engagement and took leave. Old-fashioned New York dined at seven, and the habit of after-dinner calls, though derided in Archer's set, still generally prevailed.
In consequence, a run on the bank had begun, and its doors were likely to close before the day was over. The ugliest things were being said of Beaufort's dastardly manoeuvre, and his failure promised to be one of the most discreditable in the history of Wall Street. The extent of the calamity left Mr. Letterblair white and incapacitated.
On the Wednesday morning, when he reached his office, Mr. Letterblair met him with a troubled face. Beaufort, after all, had not managed to "tide over"; but by setting afloat the rumour that he had done so he had reassured his depositors, and heavy payments had poured into the bank till the previous evening, when disturbing reports again began to predominate.
Letterblair continued, "that she attaches no importance to the money. Therefore, as the family say, why not let well enough alone?" Archer had gone to the house an hour earlier in full agreement with Mr.
Letterblair, the accredited legal adviser of three generations of New York gentility, throned behind his mahogany desk in evident perplexity.
Archer looked up. "The Mingott family," said Mr. Letterblair with an explanatory smile and bow. "Mrs. Manson Mingott sent for me yesterday. Her grand-daughter the Countess Olenska wishes to sue her husband for divorce. Certain papers have been placed in my hands." He paused and drummed on his desk.
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