Lefferts and Gertrude--(yes, I suppose May was
right to have them)--the Selfridge Merrys, Sillerton Jackson, Van
Newland and his wife. (How time passes! It seems only yesterday that
he was your best man, Newland)--and Countess Olenska--yes, I think
that's all...."

Mrs. Welland surveyed her son-in-law affectionately. "No one can say,
Newland, that you and May are not giving Ellen a handsome send-off."

"Ah, well," said Mrs. Archer, "I understand May's wanting her cousin to
tell people abroad that we're not quite barbarians."

"I'm sure Ellen will appreciate it. She was to arrive this morning, I
believe. It will make a most charming last impression. The evening
before sailing is usually so dreary," Mrs. Welland cheerfully continued.

Archer turned toward the door, and his mother-in-law called to him:
"Do go in and have a peep at the table. And don't let May tire herself
too much." But he affected not to hear, and sprang up the stairs to
his library. The room looked at him like an alien countenance composed
into a polite grimace; and he perceived that it had been ruthlessly
"tidied," and prepared, by a judicious distribution of ash-trays and
cedar-wood boxes, for the gentlemen to smoke in.

"Ah, well," he thought, "it's not for long--" and he went on to his
dressing-room.

Ten days had passed since Madame Olenska's departure from New York.
During those ten days Archer had had no sign from her but that conveyed
by the return of a key wrapped in tissue paper, and sent to his office
in a sealed envelope addressed in her hand. This retort to his last
appeal might have been interpreted as a classic move in a familiar
game; but the young man chose to give it a different meaning. She was
still fighting against her fate; but she was going to Europe, and she
was not returning to her husband. Nothing, therefore, was to prevent
his following her; and once he had taken the irrevocable step, and had
proved to her that it was irrevocable, he believed she would not send
him away.

This confidence in the future had steadied him to play his part in the
present. It had kept him from writing to her, or betraying, by any
sign or act, his misery and mortification. It seemed to him that in
the deadly silent game between them the trumps were still in his hands;
and he waited.

There had been, nevertheless, moments sufficiently difficult to pass;
as when Mr. Letterblair, the day after Madame Olenska's departure, had
sent f