Book I
10. Chapter X.
(continued)
"Well--that kind of thing happens in other places,
and the world still goes on."
"I don't suppose, dear, you're really defending the
French Sunday?"
"I've heard you often enough, mother, grumble at
the English Sunday when we've been in London."
"New York is neither Paris nor London."
"Oh, no, it's not!" her son groaned.
"You mean, I suppose, that society here is not as
brilliant? You're right, I daresay; but we belong here,
and people should respect our ways when they come
among us. Ellen Olenska especially: she came back to
get away from the kind of life people lead in brilliant
societies."
Newland made no answer, and after a moment his
mother ventured: "I was going to put on my bonnet
and ask you to take me to see cousin Louisa for a
moment before dinner." He frowned, and she continued:
"I thought you might explain to her what you've
just said: that society abroad is different . . . that people
are not as particular, and that Madame Olenska
may not have realised how we feel about such things. It
would be, you know, dear," she added with an innocent
adroitness, "in Madame Olenska's interest if you
did."
"Dearest mother, I really don't see how we're
concerned in the matter. The Duke took Madame Olenska
to Mrs. Struthers's--in fact he brought Mrs. Struthers
to call on her. I was there when they came. If the van
der Luydens want to quarrel with anybody, the real
culprit is under their own roof."
"Quarrel? Newland, did you ever know of cousin
Henry's quarrelling? Besides, the Duke's his guest; and
a stranger too. Strangers don't discriminate: how should
they? Countess Olenska is a New Yorker, and should
have respected the feelings of New York."
"Well, then, if they must have a victim, you have my
leave to throw Madame Olenska to them," cried her
son, exasperated. "I don't see myself--or you either--
offering ourselves up to expiate her crimes."
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