She flushed with joy and lifted her face to his; as he bent to it he saw that her eyes were full of happy tears. But in another moment she seemed to have descended from her womanly eminence to helpless and timorous girlhood; and he understood that her courage and initiative were all for others, and that she had none for herself. It was evident that the effort of speaking had been much greater than her studied composure betrayed, and that at his first word of reassurance she had dropped back into the usual, as a too-adventurous child takes refuge in its mother’s arms.
Archer had no heart to go on pleading with her; he was too much disappointed at the vanishing of the new being who had cast that one deep look at him from her transparent eyes. May seemed to be aware of his disappointment, but without knowing how to alleviate it; and they stood up and walked silently home.
“Your cousin the Countess called on mother while you were away,” Janey Archer announced to her brother on the evening of his return.
The young man, who was dining alone with his mother and sister, glanced up in surprise and saw Mrs. Archer’s gaze demurely bent on her plate. Mrs. Archer did not regard her seclusion from the world as a reason for being forgotten by it; and Newland guessed that she was slightly annoyed that he should be surprised by Madame Olenska’s visit.
“She had on a black velvet polonaise with jet buttons, and a tiny green monkey muff; I never saw her so stylishly dressed,” Janey continued. “She came alone, early on Sunday afternoon; luckily the fire was lit in the drawing-room. She had one of those new card-cases. She said she wanted to know us because you’d been so good to her.”
Newland laughed. “Madame Olenska always takes that tone about her friends. She’s very happy at being among her own people again.”
“Yes, so she told us,” said Mrs. Archer. “I must say she seems thankful to be here.”
“I hope you liked her, mother.”
Mrs. Archer drew her lips together. “She certainly lays herself out to please, even when she is calling on an old lady.”
“Mother doesn’t think her simple,” Janey interjected, her eyes screwed upon her brother’s face.
“It’s just my old-fashioned feeling; dear May is my ideal,” said Mrs. Archer.
“Ah,” said her son, “they’re not alike.”