“The lady was very happy at the flowers,”
Nastasia said, smoothing her apron. “She
thought it was her signor marito who had sent them,
and she cried a little and said it was a folly.”
Her mistress smiled and took the yellow envelope.
She tore it open and carried it to the lamp; then,
when the door had closed again, she handed the telegram
to Archer.
It was dated from St. Augustine, and addressed to
the Countess Olenska. In it he read: “Granny’s
telegram successful. Papa and Mamma agree marriage
after Easter. Am telegraphing Newland.
Am too happy for words and love you dearly.
Your grateful May.”
Half an hour later, when Archer unlocked his own
front-door, he found a similar envelope on the hall-table
on top of his pile of notes and letters. The
message inside the envelope was also from May Welland,
and ran as follows: “Parents consent wedding
Tuesday after Easter at twelve Grace Church eight
bridesmaids please see Rector so happy love May.”
Archer crumpled up the yellow sheet as if the gesture
could annihilate the news it contained. Then
he pulled out a small pocket-diary and turned over
the pages with trembling fingers; but he did not find
what he wanted, and cramming the telegram into his
pocket he mounted the stairs.
A light was shining through the door of the little
hall-room which served Janey as a dressing-room and
boudoir, and her brother rapped impatiently on the
panel. The door opened, and his sister stood
before him in her immemorial purple flannel dressing-gown,
with her hair “on pins.” Her face
looked pale and apprehensive.
“Newland! I hope there’s no bad
news in that telegram? I waited on purpose,
in case—” (No item of his correspondence
was safe from Janey.)
He took no notice of her question. “Look
here— what day is Easter this year?”
She looked shocked at such unchristian ignorance.
“Easter? Newland! Why, of course,
the first week in April. Why?”
“The first week?” He turned again to
the pages of his diary, calculating rapidly under
his breath. “The first week, did you say?”
He threw back his head with a long laugh.
“For mercy’s sake what’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter, except that I’m
going to be married in a month.”
Janey fell upon his neck and pressed him to her purple
flannel breast. “Oh Newland, how wonderful!
I’m so glad! But, dearest, why do you keep
on laughing? Do hush, or you’ll wake Mamma.”
The day was fresh, with a lively spring wind full
of dust. All the old ladies in both families
had got out their faded sables and yellowing ermines,
and the smell of camphor from the front pews almost
smothered the faint spring scent of the lilies banking
the altar.
Newland Archer, at a signal from the sexton, had
come out of the vestry and placed himself with his
best man on the chancel step of Grace Church.
