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Chapter 28 Ol-olhowjer spell it, anyhow? asked the tart young lady to whom Archer had pushed his wifes telegram across the brass ledge of the Western Union office. OlenskaO-len-ska, he repeated, drawing back the message in order to print out the foreign syllables above Mays rambling script. Its an unlikely name for a New York telegraph office; at least in this quarter, an unexpected voice observed; and turning around Archer saw Lawrence Lefferts at his elbow, pulling an imperturbable moustache and affecting not to glance at the message. Hallo, Newland: thought Id catch you here. Ive just heard of old Mrs. Mingotts stroke; and as I was on my way to the house I saw you turning down this street and nipped after you. I suppose youve come from there? Archer nodded, and pushed his telegram under the lattice. Very bad, eh? Lefferts continued. Wiring to the family, I suppose. I gather it IS bad, if youre including Countess Olenska. Archers lips stiffened; he felt a savage impulse to dash his fist into the long vain handsome face at his side. Why? he questioned. Lefferts, who was known to shrink from discussion, raised his eye-brows with an ironic grimace that warned the other of the watching damsel behind the lattice. Nothing could be worse form the look reminded Archer, than any display of temper in a public place. Archer had never been more indifferent to the requirements of form; but his impulse to do Lawrence Lefferts a physical injury was only momentary. The idea of bandying Ellen Olenskas name with him at such a time, and on whatsoever provocation, was unthinkable. He paid for his telegram, and the two young men went out together into the street. There Archer, having regained his self-control, went on: Mrs. Mingott is much better: the doctor feels no anxiety whatever; and Lefferts, with profuse expressions of relief, asked him if he had heard that there were beastly bad rumours again about Beaufort. . . . That afternoon the announcement of the Beaufort failure was in all the papers. It overshadowed the report of Mrs Manson Mingotts stroke, and only the few who had heard of the mysterious connection between the two events thought of ascribing old Catherines illness to anything but the accumulation of flesh and years. The whole of New York was darkened by the tale of Beauforts dishonour. There had never, as Mr. Letterblair said, been a worse case in his memory, nor, for that matter, in the memory of the far-off Letterblair who had given his name to the firm. The bank had continued to take in money for a whole day after its failure was inevitable; and as many of its clients belonged to one or another of the ruling clans, Beauforts duplicity seemed doubly cynical. If Mrs. Beaufort had not taken the tone that such misfortunes (the word was her own) were the test of friendship, compassion for her might have tempered the general indignation against her husband. As it wasand especially after the object of her nocturnal visit to Mrs Manson Mingott had become knownher cynicism was held to exceed his; and she had not the excusenor her detractors the satisfaction of pleading that she was a foreigner. It was some comfort (to those whose securities were not in jeopardy) to be able to remind themselves that Beaufort was; but, after all, if a Dallas of South Carolina took his view of the case, and glibly talked of his soon being on his feet again, the argument lost its edge, and there was nothing to do but to accept this awful evidence of the indissolubility of marriage. Society must manage to get on without the Beauforts, and there was an end of itexcept indeed for such hapless victims of the disaster as Medora Manson, the poor old Miss |
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