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Updated: May 8, 2025
It was thus, Archer reflected, that New York managed its transitions: conspiring to ignore them till they were well over, and then, in all good faith, imagining that they had taken place in a preceding age. Once people had tasted of Mrs. Struthers's easy Sunday hospitality they were not likely to sit at home remembering that her champagne was transmuted Shoe-Polish. "I know, dear, I know," Mrs.
But Madame Olenska only grew a shade paler, and stood with her arms hanging down before her, and her head slightly bent, as her way was when she pondered a question. "He's waiting for you now at Mrs. Struthers's; why don't you go to him?" Archer sneered. She turned to ring the bell.
Struthers's name had been introduced by Mrs. Archer only that she might presently be able to say: "And Newland's new cousin Countess Olenska? Was SHE at the ball too?" There was a faint touch of sarcasm in the reference to her son, and Archer knew it and had expected it. Even Mrs. Archer, who was seldom unduly pleased with human events, had been altogether glad of her son's engagement.
It was only half-past eight, after all, when he rang the bell under the wisteria; not as late as he had intended by half an hour but a singular restlessness had driven him to her door. He reflected, however, that Mrs. Struthers's Sunday evenings were not like a ball, and that her guests, as if to minimise their delinquency, usually went early.
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?
In his arms I got glimpses of black lace and wavy, brown hair, and a white cheek that he was accomplishing wonders with. They wouldn't have heard a man-hole explosion. "'He's still fitting to be my pardner, I thinks, and then I heard Struthers's teeth chatter and grind. I looked at him, and the secret of the whole play came to me.
A pang shot through him at the memory of his lamplit hours in the low-studded drawing-room. Few as they had been, they were thick with memories. "Tomorrow evening?" She nodded. "Tomorrow; yes; but early. I'm going out." The next day was a Sunday, and if she were "going out" on a Sunday evening it could, of course, be only to Mrs. Lemuel Struthers's.
Mingott had always professed a great admiration for Julius Beaufort, and there was a kind of kinship in their cool domineering way and their short-cuts through the conventions. Lemuel Struthers, the widow of Struthers's Shoe-polish, who had returned the previous year from a long initiatory sojourn in Europe to lay siege to the tight little citadel of New York.
"Of course, Newland, I know you let dear May go to Mrs. Struthers's Sunday evenings " she began; and May interposed gaily: "Oh, you know, everybody goes to Mrs. Struthers's now; and she was invited to Granny's last reception."
"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?
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