"No--to be sure; more's the pity. And now it's too late; her life is
finished." She spoke with the cold-blooded complacency of the aged
throwing earth into the grave of young hopes. The young man's heart
grew chill, and he said hurriedly: "Can't I persuade you to use your
influence with the Wellands, Mrs. Mingott? I wasn't made for long
engagements."
Old Catherine beamed on him approvingly. "No; I can see that. You've
got a quick eye. When you were a little boy I've no doubt you liked
to be helped first." She threw back her head with a laugh that made
her chins ripple like little waves. "Ah, here's my Ellen now!" she
exclaimed, as the portières parted behind her.
Madame Olenska came forward with a smile. Her face looked vivid and
happy, and she held out her hand gaily to Archer while she stooped to
her grandmother's kiss.
"I was just saying to him, my dear: 'Now, why didn't you marry my
little Ellen?'"
Madame Olenska looked at Archer, still smiling. "And what did he
answer?"
"Oh, my darling, I leave you to find that out! He's been down to
Florida to see his sweetheart."
"Yes, I know." She still looked at him. "I went to see your mother, to
ask where you'd gone. I sent a note that you never answered, and I was
afraid you were ill."
He muttered something about leaving unexpectedly, in a great hurry, and
having intended to write to her from St. Augustine.
"And of course once you were there you never thought of me again!" She
continued to beam on him with a gaiety that might have been a studied
assumption of indifference.
"If she still needs me, she's determined not to let me see it," he
thought, stung by her manner. He wanted to thank her for having been
to see his mother, but under the ancestress's malicious eye he felt
himself tongue-tied and constrained.
"Look at him--in such hot haste to get married that he took French
leave and rushed down to implore the silly girl on his knees! That's
something like a lover--that's the way handsome Bob Spicer carried off
my poor mother; and then got tired of her before I was weaned--though
they only had to wait eight months for me! But there--you're not a
Spicer, young man; luckily for you and for May. It's only my poor Ellen
that has kept any of their wicked blood; the rest of them are all model
Mingotts," cried the old lady scornfully.
Archer was aware that Madame Olenska, who had seated herself at her
grandmother's side, was still thoughtfully scrutinising him. The gaiety
had faded from her eyes, and she said with great gentleness: "Surely,
Granny, we can persuade them between us to do as he wishes."
Archer rose to go, and as his hand met Madame Olenska's he felt that
she was waiting for him to make some allusion to her unanswered letter.
"When can I see you?" he asked, as she walked with him to the door of
the room.
"Whenever you like; but it must be soon if you want to see the little
house again. I am moving next week."
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?"